


Catalyst

by Strandshaper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, StarCraft (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Body Horror, Boggarts, Canon Divergence, Crossover, Dragons, Gen, Original Character(s), magical beasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2019-10-20 04:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 143,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17615438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strandshaper/pseuds/Strandshaper
Summary: When Abathur, Evolution Master of the Swarm, is cornered by Terran forces, he believes he is about to die. Across the galaxy, a last ditch summoning ritual tries to find something that could fight Voldemort. Neither of these events go as expected. Now Abathur, trapped in the body of a Terran, must rebuild the swarm on his own, and attempt to avoid getting killed in the process. Crosspost from Fanfiction.net.





	1. Worlds Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not in any way a biologist or chemist. I will likely bungle that aspect of this story completely. If there is anyone who knows this topic better than me, I apologize ahead of time. Also, I own none of the characters or images used in this.
> 
> **(A transition looks like this)**
> 
> Edit 11/19/17: Revised and reuploaded chapter to not be a complete and utter piece of crap. Typos corrected, sentences reworded, and everything just made better in general.  
> 
> 
> _And he had help revising it, so it's not just the same pile of crap but "better." It's actually legible now. ~feauxen the exasperated beta_

Abathur had never before considered his own death. Throughout all the countless years of his existence, for all that he spent his life making weapons designed to kill others, to annihilate them in the most varied ways possible, his own mortality had never so much as crossed his mind. After all, if he died, surely the Swarm would have fallen as well, and that was simply unthinkable. Billions of constantly adapting, constantly evolving creatures, beings that could breed armadas in days, going extinct? It was unimaginable.

Of course, the unimaginable only stayed that way until it became all too real. While the Swarm was not extinct, and the weapons he created lived and fought on, Abathur, Evolution Master and oldest member of the Zerg swarm, was almost certainly going to die.

He wasn't going to die in an accident, or some experiment gone wrong, though he'd been through his fair share of close calls. Nor was it some grand, important battle, although the Terrans had certainly brought a sizeable fleet. No, Abathur was going to die in a simple ambush while collecting essence. He'd brought a leviathan to a system called Algol, in the belief that there was essence he could use to augment the ultralisk strain. Instead of a simple gathering mission, he had warped into a full Terran armada, armed to the teeth and ready for combat. Whether they were waiting for him, or just happened to be in the area, Abathur would likely never know.

**(Transition)**

Many more were going to die. Garrick Ollivander knew this as well as anyone. You-Know-Who was claiming more and more ground, more and more  _lives_. Hope grew more distant with each passing day. And so, it was only in desperation that they turned to this ritual. He didn't know where Adeviar had found it, but frankly, he didn't want to. He only wanted to end this nightmare.

All he knew about the ritual was its purpose. With luck, it would reach across time and space to summon a powerful being, something that could defeat You-Know-Who. He didn't know if the summoned being would be willing to help them, or if the ritual would even work at all. And if it was successful, what would the consequences be? Ollivander shook himself. The only alternative was to let He-Who-Must-Be-Named reign supreme, and anything,  _anything_ , was better than that.

The other participants, Adeviar Byhumorn, Defous Melhorn, Iwyn Izemorith, Jedelis Iwpyx, Faris and Vivira Jaren were courageous men and women, the lot of them. All of them united by a common goal, and no small amount of desperation. He could only hope that when they were done, this long nightmare would finally be over.

**(Transition)**

With every passing moment, Abathur could feel the barrier between him and the terrans weapons grow thinner. He searched in vain for something, anything he could use to preserve his life, his essence. A larva to manipulate, a queen or an overlord who could host a copy of his mind. He knew it was possible, the Overmind had done it many times. How had it taken their minds, regrown their bodies? Abathur struggled to recall the process, to recreate it before his time ran out. But the terrans were overwhelming the zerg fliers. He couldn't replenish his forces faster than they were being destroyed. Bit by bit, the terrans claimed ground despite his best efforts to stop them. How ironic it was that  _terrans_  would kill him. A race so biologically pathetic would, in the end, destroy the Master of Evolution.

**(Transition)**

"Is everyone ready?" Ollivander asked. Six grim nods answered him. Of course they were ready. Everyone here had spent weeks helping set this up, whether by collecting ingredients or drawing the runes and diagrams, all of which had to be  _precisely_ correct. Not a single person in the circle was unprepared.

So Ollivander pressed his wand to the center of the runic circle, flooding it with power. He was followed by Vivira to his left, then Iwyn to her left, then Jedelis, all the way around the circle. As the glyphs glowed with magic, and the items placed on the outer edges of the circle began to dissolve, Ollivander could only hope they weren't making a horrible mistake.

**(Transition)**

Just when Abathur was beginning to give up hope, he felt something new at the edge of his consciousness. A rift, a vortex, a gap, something was pulling at him. Something that promised salvation, offering to take his mind and his essence away from the Terrans and their war machines, away from his impending death. Where this vortex lead, Abathur couldn't say.

But if the choice was between certain doom and an uncertain destination, there was only one real option. Abathur allowed the anomaly to pull at him. His mind was the first to go through, with everything else following behind him. Survival was uncertain, but that was better than impossible. Abathur's last thought was that he hoped that he wasn't making a horrible mistake, before his mind was pulled through the anomaly and time lost all meaning.

**(Transition)**

The ritual was very quickly going wrong. A small error in one of the containment runes had caused the energy that was supposed to call and form the summoned being to cascade wildly around the small room, twisting and thrashing at the participants of the ritual. They clasped their hands to their head as alien thoughts rushed through their mind, or writhed in pain as unknown  _things_ crawled through their flesh, or both. The majority was pushing itself into Vivira, funneling into her. Ollivander had to do something. In a panic, he stopped feeding his magic into the ritual circle, cutting the flow. With a final pulse of light, the rest of the formation grew dark.

Unfortunately, the damage was already done. Half of the summoners lay dead on the ground, their flesh twisted into mocking caricatures of human beings. Defous had limbs bursting out of his stomach, Iwyn was covered in bony spikes, and Jedelis lay prone on the floor, his lower body twisted like a snake. Faris and Ollivander had crumpled to the floor, clutching their skulls. Vivira was the only one with intact vocal chords who wasn't screaming, instead lying prone on the floor and clutching her stomach. It was a scene straight out of a horror novel.

Later, when the Aurors arrived to investigate reports of bright lights and chaotic magic, they found a ruined ritual circle, and ruined people to match it. After a few questions were asked of the survivors and the purpose of the ritual was discovered, no charges were pressed. No one could blame them for wanting to help fight You-Know-Who, and the only people who had suffered their folly were the participants of the ritual.

The participants who were still alive got ferried to St. Mungo's. The rest were taken away in body bags. Ollivander and Faris were diagnosed with moderate brain damage, while Adeviar needed whole organs to be regrown with potions, and even then, he was horribly disfigured. Vivira, it turned out, was pregnant, much to the surprise of both her and her husband.

The survivors of the ritual, were released after they finished healing, with strict warnings never to try it again. Unnecessary warnings, after seeing their friends' corpses. Ollivander returned to the wand shop, Vivira prepared for a child with her husband, and Adeviar returned to his job, far away from prying eyes. All of them tried to live as best they could, but they all bore the scars of that night for the rest of their lives.

**(Transition)**

Abathur was... confused. His mind had gone through the anomaly, he was certain, but he had no idea where he was. He saw nothing. He felt nothing but warmth and liquid. What little he heard was muffled and distorted. He could barely move. All he could do was think, and even that felt strained, as if a thick sludge smothered every fold of his mind. All he could really do was squirm and wait. And wait. And wait.

**(Transition)**

On December 7th, 1979, Vivira Jaren died while giving birth to Thenabar Jaren, a healthy, if somewhat premature child. On that day, Abathur opened his eyes for the first time in nine months.

**Leviathan: There are no creatures in the entirety of the Zerg Swarm that can match the sheer scale of the leviathan. The chief capital ships of the Zerg, leviathans function as a combination of troop transport, boarding vessel, front line brawler, carrier, and everything and anything in between. The battlecruisers of the terran, the carriers and motherships of the protoss, none of these craft can compare to the leviathan in terms of strength, utility, or sheer size. The main attack of the leviathan comes in the form of massive tendrils extending from its front, which slam into and impale opposing forces. Their tendrils are also capable of deploying zerg troops, similar to a nydus worm. In addition, leviathans can spawn mutalisks and brood lords, or drop sacs containing any number of zerg creatures or structures. Unlike most zerg strains, leviathans are extremely difficult and expensive to create. The only being that has managed to do so in battlefield conditions is Abathur. The loss of a leviathan is a steep one, but with time and resources, a new titanic living warship is always ready to do battle.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is one that I previously posted on ff.net and have recently decided to repost here in order to sate my endless hunger for reviews. Thanks to EssayofThoughts for giving me an invitation link so I could make an account in order to do this in the first place. At the time of writing, this fic is not yet complete, and updates will be posted both here and ff.net. Enjoy your reading!


	2. To See Through New Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I will be very heavily abusing the laws of science, especially those relating to biology, in this fic. If anyone with actual knowledge of biology is reading this, I apologize. Also, I own nothing. Forgot to mention that last time.  
>  **(For future reference, this is what a transition looks like. Because apparently a line of dashes doesn't show up on Fanfiction. Who knew.)**

"You know what I'm going to say."

"And you know why I have to do this."

Two men sat sat around a small table. One was older, with gray hair, and a tired expression. The other man, younger, held a swaddled infant in his arms.

"I do Faris. I really do. But a Muggle orphanage? Are you certain that's the best option?" Ollivander said.

"People are dying here. Either from You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, from getting caught in the crossfire, or just from stupid mistakes," said Faris. "Right now, the magical world is too dangerous. If Thenabar stays here, he will die."

"Faris, think what you're doing. You're abandoning your only child, to live in a world without magic!" Ollivander exclaimed.

"This way, he'll live long enough for me to explain it to him! I know what I'm doing Garrick! I've thought this through! And I'd rather my son be alive without a wand, then be buried in a grave with one he'll never get to use!" Faris shouted back.

Ollivander stood there, stunned. Then, finally, he shook his head and looked down. "I see you've made up your mind. If this is honestly what you think is best, then far be it from this old man to stand in your way. But we both know this won't last. In a few years, Thenabar will be getting a letter. When that day arrives, I hope you can explain your choice. And I hope you can explain it to Vivira as well," With that, Ollivander turned and walked out of the room.

Faris sighed. This was not the first argument he'd had with others about his decision, and he doubted it would be the last. Still, he had to do it. Not just because of the stated reasons, although those still applied. Because he couldn't bare for much longer to look into those yellow, slightly incandescent, eyes in his son's skull for much longer. Not those eyes that judged him every second of every day, and found him pathetic.

**(Transition)**

Gretchen enjoyed her job at the orphanage. Caring for all the sweet little children, seeing them grow up, or go away with a loving family. Even if she couldn't have children of her own, it was delightful to care for all the little ones in the stead of those she couldn't bear. Every child brought something to the table, and this newest bundle of joy, Thenabar was his name, was no different. He was such a peaceful child, never crying out unless he really needed something, and never making a mess. Now if only he could stop trying to bite everything that came near him, he would be an absolute darling.

**(Transition)**

**DEATH EATER ATTACK!**

By Faylour T. Lanch

_You read this right folks. You-Know-Who's Death Eaters have struck again, this time in the town of Puddlemere. This great tragedy occurred at approximately 1am last night. Death Eaters arrived at the edge of town, and quickly moved in, killing many of the townsfolk, both magic and muggle. Some wizards attempted to hold off the Death Eaters, but casualties were high. By the time Aurors arrived on the scene, many braze witches and wizards had lost their lives. The names of the fallen are as follows: Libatius Sikes, Reffen Pettit, Mercia Cooper, Faris Jaren, Connie Prismall, Maggie Rowle... May Merlin help them and their families. The Daily Prophet highly recommends strengthening your wards in the future, so as to avoid this happening to you or your loved ones._

**(Transition)**

2 years. It took two full years, during which Abathur was unable to walk, talk, or even have a coherent thought. It took two years for him to understand exactly what his current situation was. He was trapped in the body of a Terran infant, with bare scraps of his former essence remaining. The infant part may pass with time, but the Terran part wouldn't change, not without significant work that Abathur was unable to perform.

It was a disaster that defied description. A near complete loss of essence, removal from the swarm, and it was a miracle he had anything at all. Whatever that anomaly was, it was hardly a better alternative than death. The only silver lining was that the Terrans had apparently not recognized the threat in their midst, and were providing sustenance and care to him, although for some reason, they only referred to him as "Thenabar". How they got that name in relation to Abathur, he had no idea. Regardless, the caretakers of this place, this "orphanage", provided biomass. Almost an excessive amount, until Abathur realized how much of what he took in, was actually used. Little. Very little. Terran inefficiency at it's finest.

And it was an odd place. Abathur had not made a study of Terrans much beyond their biology, their society was completely alien to him. As far as he could tell, this structure, painted in the classic sterile grey Terrans seemed so fond of, served as a repository for Terran spawn that lacked dedicated guardians, or whose guardians were deceased and no replacement was found. Why that would be an issue for a race that had populations in the billions, Abathur had no idea.

Still, it technically could have been worse. He could be dead. While Abathur was still alive, there was the potential for reconstruction. There was life, there was essence, so there was hope. Now if only he could figure out how to walk for more than a few feet at a time, he could start work.

**(Transition)**

Elsewhere in Britain, a mere babe defeated one of the most dangerous Dark Lords to haunt Wizarding Britain. That babe survived seemingly unharmed, except for a small, jagged scar on his forehead.\

**(Transition)**

Miscellaneous scraps of ash worm, a couple fragments of the Roach's acid, most of the strands regarding creep (thank the Overmind), some components from the Overlord, and other random sequences that were beyond description. And, of course the overwhelming infestation of Terran matter, and the random Terran flora and fauna that were nearby Abathur, and had already been consumed. Not to mention the chemical tools that allowed him to read and edit the sequences.

This was, in essence, the entirety of Abathur's brood, if it could be called that. Some of the strands could be built upon, some could be reconstructed from how they interacted with what he already had, some of the simpler parts of essence could be entirely fabricated, but the simple fact was, Abathur didn't have enough essence to build a single creature, let alone a hive cluster.

Not to mention that the Terrans may not have been as unaware of his activities as he had originally thought. Several of the caretakers of the orphanage had nearly successfully attempted to stop him from taking bacterial and viral samples from the soil by eating it, claiming it was "not food". It was a disturbing trend, that would severely limit him until his body matured more fully, to be capable of greater speeds. In other news, it appeared Terran digestive systems do not handle dirt well. An area to improve upon.

Overall, it was a dire situation. With such a lack of swarm-based essence, Abathur would be forced to use and assimilate the essence of the creatures on this planet. Given that Terrans seemed to be able to survive quite comfortably, he did not have high hopes for any interesting strains. Still, that was what experimentation was for. Stressors reveal flaws, flaws reveal potential, and potential would be what was needed to build his brood. The Swarm would prevail. Abathur would prevail.

**(Transition)**

**Infested Terrans: Terrans infested by the zerg hyper evolutionary virus, or otherwise changed into a zerg. Most are shambling husks, little more than short lived, occasionally exploding, cannon fodder, but some, when given special attention by a being that knows how to properly change a genome, can become truly terrifying. Examples include the Queen of Blades, and Alexei Stukov. Identifying features include carapace, oddly placed tendrils, claws, and, occasionally, glowing yellow eyes.**


	3. Adaptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter especially will bungle the laws of biology, as well as possibly chemistry, and a bit of real life chronology, I think. Apologies to those who are more knowledgeable in the field than I. Also, don't own crap. On a side note, I realized I could probably still make this a good story without throwing HP into the mix. Oh well, something for another day.
> 
> **(This is a transition, FYI)**

 

 

The beach, with its soft sand, cool water, and brilliant sun, was an excellent place to be for Abathur. Not because of the place itself, but because the presence of creatures whose essence would have been essentially inaccessible before, those that lived in the sea or near it, were ripe for the picking. It was very convenient then, that the orphanage seemed to have come into a fair excess of resources lately, and had taken all of its wards to said location.

Already, Abathur had managed to grab the feathers of a number of birds, and leftover carapaces belonging to miscellaneous arthropoids. None of those was particularly valuable on its own, but Abathur remained a bit short on essence, even after gathering much of it near the orphanage. Armored carapace and flight were valuable traits, even if they weren't particularly well developed. Even the fish, with their ability to extract gases from liquids, had valuable essence that Abathur could claim. Or at least, could have claimed, if not for some particularly irritating adolescent terrans.

"Hey, Bug Face!", called one of the more vocal of those organisms. Darius, Abathur believed was its name. Darius, an irritating specimen, walked closer to Abathur, disturbing the smaller bird he had been attempting to catch. "Bug Face, we're talking to you."

"Interaction, undesirable. Leave," Abathur responded. Abathur continued to search for some other essence, ideally a less mobile source. History had shown that essence was much harder to gather when Darius was nearby.

"Whatsa matter, freak? Looking for a friend?", Darius, seemingly not understanding his requests for isolation, continued. Meanwhile, Abathur had spotted an odd gelatinous mound nearby, and was making his way towards it.

"Hearing, possibly impaired. Will attempt to repeat command. Disinterest in interaction, great. Organism Darius, leave area," Abathur responded. He had made his way closer to the mound, which appeared to have a number of smaller tendrils extending from the main body, and was inspecting it more closely.

"Come on, Bug Face, what's the matter? I just want to talk with you," Darius and his companions had continued to edge closer to Abathur. Abathur meanwhile, had reached, and was examining the mound.

"Mental capacity, possibly impaired. Investigate alternate communication forms," Abathur stated, mostly to himself, but loud enough to be heard by Darius.

"Hey, are you calling me stupid?" Darius said loudly to Abathur. Abathur declined to respond, too absorbed in studying the mound. It was extremely simple, both in form and genetics. It lacked even a central nervous system. Overall, it seemed to just be a primitive digestive system, with some muscles for locomotion and tendrils attached. The tendrils themselves however, seemed to contain a much more interesting structure.

"Bug Face, I'm talking to you!" Darius said, seemingly frustrated over the lack of response. Abathur, meanwhile, continued to study the tendrils. They seemed to have a harpoon-like structure built into them, designed to grip and inject a potentially painful paralytic into the creatures prey. Definitely a worthwhile addition, perhaps the first one worth adding to his current body. His mind made up, Abathur grabbed the central mass, tore off a piece, and consumed it.

"What the hell are you doing?" Darius asked, shock clearly written across his face. He took a step back. Meanwhile, Abathur was analyzing the assimilated essence. It was simple, but effective. The toxin itself could use a couple improvements, such as greater stability, a bit higher concentration, as well as a couple of other things, but those could wait. For now though, it was enough to add to his current form. Abathur rose and faced Darius.

"Alternate communication, found. Implement and test," Abathur stated, as what appeared to be a large scab quickly covered his hands. Darius continued to look on in horror and disbelief. "Mutation, complete," Abathur said, as the scab peeled away from his hands. With that, Abathur grabbed Darius's wrist, and squeezed. And Darius screamed.

Later, when he was taken to the nearest clinic, Darius was diagnosed and treated for jellyfish stings, despite his repeated statements that it was something else. Abathur was not disturbed while gathering again. By anyone.

**(Transition)**

Terran disposal of waste was somehow one of the most and one of the least efficient systems Abathur had ever seen. On one hand, Terrans had to release large chunks of biomass that could easily have been put to better use. On the other hand, they had made a simple and effective method to transport and presumably reclaim the waste. This toilet device was almost enough to make him respect the terrans, were it not for all their other flaws. It was efficient, a credit to Terran ingenuity. Perhaps a similar system would be worth adding to the Swarm. It was something for Abathur to consider.

**(Transition)**

It was quite strange behavior. Certainly, it had saved its life, but dropping off an entire limb to escape capture was an extreme defense mechanism. Abathur was unsure of what to make of the small reptiles behavior. Regardless, it had left its limb behind, he had might as well assimilate it, and see what use it was. Abathur dropped lower to the ground, and put the tail in his mouth, swallowing it. Suddenly he froze, trying to make sense of the information. Limb regeneration? Well, that was certainly useful.

**(Transition)**

One of the main deficits of being human, Abathur was realizing, was the ability to get bored. Apparently, terrans dislike doing the same thing for hours on end, and chemically desire distractions. To that end, Abathur had decided to indulge in some terran entertainment, a television program called X-men, by hanging around in a common area of the orphanage with a TV. It was a surprisingly good diversion. The show appeared to be about a group of genetically superior terrans attempting to eradicate their evolutionary predecessors in order to speed up the process of evolution. The leader, Magneto, was a very logical being, a terran Abathur would very much like to meet, were he not fictional. Oddly enough, much of the shows focus was around a small group of evolutionary deniers, who seemed to have made it their personal goal to stall natural processes. Perhaps that was merely one of the subtleties of terran entertainment he had yet to understand.

Still, it was a welcome distraction, giving him possible ideas for new strains and allowing the annoying terran impulses to subside. At least it was, until he was struck with a resounding realization.

The Terrans around him would kill him without a second thought if they ever discovered what he was.

The evidence was right there, in the media the terrans themselves made. If any among their own kind appear too anomalous, too different, they would mob them, attempt to harm, suppress, or kill them. Even those terrans which initially appeared non-combatant in nature would pick up an impromptu weapon and attempt to hurt him. Not only was this in X-men. It was in their history books, it was in his own observations, back with the full swarm. They killed him, or would have if not for the anomaly, the first time, whether by premeditation, or accidently. When he infested terrans, the other terrans would slaughter them en-masse, not giving it a second thought. Mere suspicion of non-conformity had been the death of innumerable Changelings and parasite controlled agents. There was no doubt.

Abathur needed to hide, he needed to blend in. The jellyfish assimilation and test at the beach had been risky, near-fatal, he could see that now. Whatever he did, he needed to do it quietly, out of the view of watching eyes. And if terrans did discover him, then he needed to eliminate the threat. Quickly.

Abathur returned to watching the show. Somehow, it didn't seem quite the same after his realization. Hiding in plain sight, distancing oneself for fear of discovery and prosecution, all these trials that the X-men faced, seemed a great deal more relatable now.

**(Transition)**

**Larva: Arguably the single most useful zerg, the small, armored worm that is the larva provides the backbone of the entire swarm, literally. While it is able to do essentially nothing to begin with, it has the capacity to become nearly anything. A larva can mutate into anything from a Brutalisk to a Lurker Den. A single larva, given the resources and time, could even create an entire hive cluster.**


	4. Indistinguishable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: You know what, at this point, just assume that if I write anything sounding remotely scientific, it's all complete bullcrap. Don't study for tests with this. Also, I own nothing.
> 
> **(A Transition, behold)**

It had been a while since he had got out of the castle. Hogwarts was a wonderful place, but even the headmaster needed to get out and about now and again. And so, on the steps of the orphanage, life found Albus Dumbledore, looking quite dapper in a star speckled lime green robe, complete with a large striped purple hat, and carrying a parchment letter with a large red seal on it, addressed to a Thenabar Jaren. As he walked up the steps, Dumbledore wondered when the last time he had done this was. Perhaps it was back in '72? Or was it a couple years earlier? Either way, here he found himself again, delivering a letter to a young man, soon to be inducted into the ranks of Europe's finest young magical minds. Maybe it would be a brilliant Ravenclaw, or a noble Gryffindor. Well, no way to tell until he delivered the letter.

Dumbledore stepped up to the door and rapped on the knocker twice. After a moment, small, unremarkable man opened the door. "Yes?", he asked.

"I am am here with a letter for a Mr. Jaren," Dumbledore responded. Oh dear, the man looked a little uncertain. "He has been accepted into my school." Suddenly the man looked up. He almost appeared... relieved?

"Ah, Thenabar. Well he prefers to be called Abathur, but same difference. Yes, he's right up this way." With that, the man started walking back into the orphanage, motioning Dumbledore to follow him. "A brilliant child, no doubt. I'm not surprised you're looking to enroll him. A bit odd though, that one."

"Indeed? In what way?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Well, he tends to keep to himself, talks a bit oddly, other children even avoid him a bit," the man replied. "So what kind of school do you run anyway?"

"It's a private boarding school up in Scotland, you likely would not have heard of it," Dumbledore said, managing to evade the question.

"Ah, okay." Both men continued walking through the orphanage walls in silence. Eventually they reached "Here we are, Abathur should be right in there." The man paused for a second right outside the door. "You know, to be honest, I'll be kind of glad to see Abathur go for a while. Just get the feeling there's something a bit off about him, y'know? He just keeps looking at everyone like he wants to take 'em apart and see how they work. But hey, what do I know, I'm workin' in a bloody orphanage!" The man wandered off, leaving Dumbledore to his own devices, muttering under his breath about how he could've been a surgeon.

A little shaken, Dumbledore returned to his task. Facing the door, he composed himself, before knocking on the door in front of him. After a moment's pause, he heard a voice say, "Entrance, permitted." With that, Dumbledore turned the knob, and entered the room. It was a rather spartan living place, containing only the bare necessities, with only the merest hint of personal touch, or indeed, anyone living there at all. The one main exception to that, of course, was the yellow-eyed youth standing in the center of the room, examining Dumbledore carefully.

**(Transition)**

Abathur was unsure what to make of the odd, elderly, man standing in front of him. At first glance, he appeared to be a terran street performer, dressed colorfully and absurdly. Why such a being had decided to seek him out, he had no idea. The awkward silence was broken when the older man cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Mr. Jaren, I presume?" he asked.

"Abathur, preferred title. Recommend use." Abathur was tired of humans using the other names. You would think they would learn at this point. He barely remembered them, he didn't see why others made the effort at all.

"Mr. Abathur then. Tell me, have you ever had anything strange happen to you, something that can not be explained?" Dumbledore said a twinkle in his eye. It didn't last.

"No," Abathur said quickly. Dumbledore's twinkles ceased.

"Are you absolutely sure? Think back, it may not have been a large, thing, but has there been-,"

"No. No occurrences," Abathur responded quicker this time. This was getting far too close to lines of inquiries that he would rather avoid. Dumbledore merely looked at Abathur for a few seconds, then moved to speak again.

"A different question then. I've been told that you don't associate with other children much, that they avoid you. Would you care to explain why exactly that is?" The elderly terran asked.

A psychiatrist then. Abathur had heard of them, specialists assigned to problematic children. He had thought he had stayed inconspicuous enough to avoid them, but clearly he must have missed something. This required careful handling. "Expressed desire for isolation. Others, did not listen, used other methods. Proved more effective."

If anything, the seeming psychiatrist scrutinized him more closely. This was risky. Apparently these terrans were more versed than others in normality, and the lack thereof. "But does it not get lonely, being alone all the time? Do you not have friends, people to talk with?" The elder terran asked.

This was getting close to territory Abathur did not want to get into. A distraction was necessary. "Social behavior, irrelevant. State purpose." The terran did not miss the deflection, but continued nonetheless.

"Very well. Mr. Abathur. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, and I am here to formally invite you to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," The apparently not a psychiatrist said.

"Unfamiliar with disciplines. Content of courses?" Abathur inquired.

The headmaster looked confused for a second. "What that means, Mr. Abathur is that you are a wizard, capable of performing magic."

"Unsure of statement. Elaboration required." Abathur said. Rather than saying anything else, Dumbledore simply took out a stick.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order. Mr. Abathur, would you stand back from your bed please? Thank you." And with that, Albus Dumbledore waved the stick through the air, muttered a few words, and suddenly Abathur's bed was a leopard.

Shock filled Abathur, he could do nothing but stare at the space that his bed had occupied and at Dumbledore, turning his head between the two, as if seeing both for the first time. Internally, Abathur was absolutely astonished and frustrated. As he replayed the earlier conversation through his head, some things became abundantly clear.

The terran standing before him was psionic. He ran a school for a number of psionic terrans. They practiced a branch of psionics that was so bizarre and so unheard of that it could shape matter as easily as Abathur shaped stomachs. Abathur had been invited to that school, to learn that branch of psionics. Abathur's current body was psionic. Most importantly, Abathur had had access to psionics for 11 years and  _had not noticed it._  And finally, Abathur had to accept this invitation.

Abathur looked up at the headmaster. "Enrollment, agreeable. Time and location of education?"

**(Transition)**

Abathur's first impression of Diagon alley was that it was chaotic, poorly organized, excessively colorful, and quite possibly the most interesting place he had ever been. All around him, there were examples of how these humans had figured out unique ways to use psionics. On one end, psionic energy was focused and maintained in a terran cleaning implement apparently allowed flight. Various storefronts offered plants and animal sections, the likes and essence of which Abathur had never before witnessed. Other unique items with many other unique effects all over the place. Clothes that were animated, toys that changed from one form to another, as easy as water. Even his assigned guide to this place, a human, crossed with another, stronger species, Hagrid, he was called, was very interesting. Gathering his essence would be too difficult, but it was still interesting to observe.

For now, though, gathering the ingredients and materials he would be using was enough in his education. The few methods and results he had time to read about were excellent, variations of standard reactions and laws that Abathur had known but never thought of using in one particular manner, or in a combination that was unorthodox but highly effective. If he had known the terrans had such an extensive knowledge of psionics, or magic as they called it, Abathur would have made a study of them far sooner. It was unfortunate that this community was so well hidden, even from other humans, or that might well have occurred.

What was even better was that every terran here was had psionics. Hundreds of those with the potential to become absolutely great, all gathered in one place. It was the former evolution master's dream come true. Were the Swarm ever to visit Earth, this would most definitely be the first target. With the essence gathered around him, Abathur could make hundreds of Queen of Blades, possibly even more if he could discover how to grow them independently of the terrans. Or perhaps he could just leave the reproductive systems intact. There were certainly enough specimens for that to work.

Regardless, that was a project for another day. In the present, Hagrid was guiding him to a shop called Ollivander's. Apparently that was the main location to get a wand, the most important of the human psionics tools from what he had gleaned from his gargantuan guide. As the duo entered the store, Abathur couldn't help but notice the lack of lighting, rampant spiderwebs, and grey haired terran that had popped up right in front of his face. "Well, hello there," said terran stated.

"Ah, Ollivander. Got another one for ya'," Hagrid said, moving back to stand in the corner, leaving Abathur relatively isolated with the shopkeeper. "Names Thenabar Jaren, prefers Abathur."

"Jaren, you say?" Ollivander inquired. "Oh, oh my, it is you. Didn't think I'd see you again, not after your father... Well, let's just say he was far more right than I'd thought he'd be. I suppose you're here for your wand then, let's get you started, shall we? What's your wand hand?" With that a number of measuring tapes and rulers started floated around Abathur, taking measurements.

"What?" Abathur said, more than a bit confused.

Ollivander continued talking. "Your dominant hand. You know, I knew your parents, hard to forget them really, even with... nevermind that. Vivira died back in childbirth, bless her soul, but Faris, Faris gave you up to protect you. Brave man, that one." During his monologue, Ollivander had begun rummaging through the boxes, checking and putting back dozens of carved sticks. "Smarter than I gave him credit for. Here I thought he'd be fine, that he was just shirking responsibility, but now he's in the grave, and you stand before me."

Abathur was growing more and more confused by the second. The terran in front of him had known his genetic forebears, and they had had psionic capabilities? While interesting, he didn't see how it was particularly relevant. After all, they were dead, they lacked the capacity to make a difference. So why was the human continuing to discuss them?

Ollivander, meanwhile, oblivious to Abathur's growing confusion, continued to talk. "Ah, the right, is it? Very well. Anyway, good friends of mine the both of them, wish they were still here today. Oh, let's try this one! 11 inches, unicorn hair, fairly stiff, oak, nice for charms!" Ollivander thrust the wand into Abathur's right hand. Abathur merely looked at it, confused. Before he had the opportunity to examine it closer, Ollivander immediately plucked it out of his hands. "No, not that one. How about this one? 9 inches, dragon heartstring, ash, swishy, fairly balanced." Another wand was given to Abathur, to the same reaction, and immediate removal. This continued for some time, until one particular wand was pulled out.

"All right, try this one, acromantula silk, rowan, thirteen inches, quite flexible, very good for transfiguration," Ollivander said. This time when Abathur took the wand in his hands, there was an immediate difference. His power flowed through it, augmented by the seemingly mundane piece of wood. Ollivander stepped back as Abathur moved the wand around, seeing the sparks and patterns that flew from it.

"Very good. Wish to purchase," Abathur said.

"Of course, of course Mr. Jaren. That is your wand. It has chosen you. Take good care of it, and it will return the favor," Ollivander replied.

Later, as Abathur walked out of the shop with his new wand, Ollivander wondered where the yellow eyes had come from. As far as he knew, it ran in neither Faris's nor Vivira's family, so it was quite odd seeing it in their child. Perhaps it merely came from another branch of the family? Ollivander shrugged and returned to work. It didn't matter that much.

**(Transition)**

It was the day, September 1st, at King's Cross Station, in which he would begin his psionics education among the terrans. Abathur stood outside the main station, observing the various baseline terrans, going about their day, unaware of the machinations of their counterparts. Much the same way Abathur was, a scant few weeks ago. But now, he stood directly in front of the illusion that marked the barrier between the magical world and the mundane, ready to learn, to grow, and to adapt. To assimilate essence and knowledge the likes of which would have been previously inconceivable. All of that, right behind this portal.

Abathur took a step forward.

**(Transition)**

**Changeling: While rarely deployed on the battlefield, changelings are nonetheless a very useful member of the swarm, functioning as spies or scouts. Although not the most skilled conversationalists, changelings can infiltrate enemies by changing shape, into forms such as marines, zerglings, or zealots. In this guise, they are often capable of sneaking into bases undetected, learning the secrets of the swarms foes, then feeding that info back to the main hive. Many terran plots and facilities have been sabotaged by a skilled infiltrator. While they possess little to no combat ability, changelings can still indirectly wreak havoc amongst all foes of the swarm.**


	5. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: On second thought, I may end up using actual science sometime or another. We'll see. In other news, I will be going away for a few weeks, so don't expect updates or responses to PMs or reviews after Saturday in that time period. After that, regular, if possibly slightly slower, updates will resume, and I will respond to and answer questions and reviews. Also, I don't own these franchises  
>    
>  **(Transitiooooonnnnn, transition!)**

Abathur looked around the train station. Aside from the obvious displays of power, it seemed almost disappointingly terran, grey and crowded. Ignoring the loud groups of people and tearful farewells, he walked straight towards the train, entering it. He found an empty seat, took out a book, and began studying, ignoring others surrounding and passing him. It was quite an interesting book, one discussing many of the creatures that appeared to possess psionics. Abathur was particularly interested in a creature called a centaur. Such an obvious hybrid between two different species created by means unknown would likely be quite intriguing, should he ever encounter it.

Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to go through enough of his literature. The train ride ended far before he finished the textbook, leaving Abathur to pack up his books and exit the cabin, heading out into a deluge of rain. Most of the students were getting into carriages, pulled by odd, skeletal, winged quadrupeds. Oddly enough, most of the terrans didn't acknowledge the likely equine relatives, something that Abathur resolved to examine later. He began to approach the carriages, only to be interrupted by a loud call.

"First years! First years over here!" It was the hybrid again. Apparently, first years of the school were removed from the main group, to be escorted by him. Abathur walked over, taking note of the other students heading in the same direction. None appeared particularly impressive, but Abathur had learned his lesson on underestimation after the headmaster. Abathur kept a careful eye on all of them as they scrambled into the boats. He continued keeping an eye on them as they rowed across the large lake, only occasionally glancing away to examine the creatures below him, in the water. Abathur could have sworn that an immensely large creature was below him, but dismissed the thought immediately. That was ridiculous, it wouldn't have nearly enough food to eat, and would starve to death within a week.

The remainder of the boat ride was uneventful. The rain was not conducive to conversation, even if Abathur had been interested in interacting with the other occupants of the watercraft. After a few minutes of rowing, the group of boats arrived at a shore, and the passengers promptly disembarked. One by one, they filed into the gates in front of them, briefly stopped for a speech by one of the teachers, then went into a room to wait. It was there that Abathur suffered his first truly big shock of the magical world.

Ghosts. Sentient, immaterial, collections of thoughts. How they sustained themselves, how they came to be, what they did, Abathur didn't know, and wasn't sure he wanted to. It both thrilled and terrified him to see them. On the one hand, their mere existence promised a wealth of knowledge, and spoke to the things he had yet to uncover. On the other hand, it spoke of his things he had yet to discover, and that not all of them would react as predicted. It was troubling, to say the least.

Fortunately, the ghosts did not stay for long. Before any significant amount of time had passed, the ghosts had left, and the students were filing off into a larger room, where the remainder of the older terrans were seated. Most were talking to their peers, or merely looking into their lap, but all looked up at the procession of first years moving to the front of the room, nearby to an old, pointed hat on a stool. Abathur was just wondering when anything would happen. It was only when the hat started to sing, that Abathur became nervous, not because of the stares of the students and staff, or the constant fidgeting of those around him, but because of the hat.

More specifically, the fact that it was insinuating that it was going to read his mind. That was not an option. If the hat peered into his mind, saw him as he was, and exposed him, they would all try to kill him. Everyone around him. The students, the teachers, it was entirely possible that the ghosts would as well, he didn't know their capabilities. If Abathur put the tattered thing on his head, he would be completely at its mercy. The only other option was escape, but that was even worse. If he attempted to flee, or fight his way through the crowd, he would be ousted for certain, and the outcome would be the same. Abathur was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Paralyzed with indecision, Abathur stood deathly still, listening as McGonagall worked through the list of students.

"Seamus Finnigan."

Abathur desperately thought through his options. The amount of names standing between him and that hat was growing shorter much faster than he would have preferred it to.

"Hermione Granger."

In the end, there was only one option. Running was a clear way to get killed. Fighting would get Abathur killed.

"Gregory Goyle."

The hat appeared to keep its opinions and observations to itself. Abathur couldn't be sure that this applied to him, but compared to extinction, it was an acceptable risk. Abathur had to put on the hat.

"Thenabar Jaren."

Nervous, Abathur stepped up quickly to the stool and sat on it. Moments later, the hat was placed in his head, and Abathur could feel it starting to dig through his head. It almost felt like he was back in the hive mind, if not for the unmistakeable alien feel of the hat.

" _Well, this is interesting,"_ a voice said within Abathur's mind.  _"I have to say, it is definitely the first time we have had an alien here at Hogwarts. Vampires, werewolves, sure, but never an alien."_

Well, so much for any hope of keeping that a secret from the hat. Abathur hoped it had a self-preservation instinct, and flooded his mind with images of the hat saying it out loud, then burning, being ripped apart, immersed in acid, and other similar effective methods of headwear destruction. To his surprise, the hat gave the mental equivalent of a chuckle.  _"Rest assured Mr. Abathur, your secret is safe with me. What I see in your head is completely confidential. Couldn't tell it even if I wanted to. Now, shall we get onto the actual sorting part?"_

Abathur internally confirmed this, some of the faculty and students appeared a bit suspicious at the longer sorting time. The last thing he wanted or needed was additional delays leading to additional suspicions.  _"Well, Hufflepuff is right out. You're certainly hard working enough, but you quite literally don't know the meaning of the word loyal. Not particularly brave either, Gryffindor wouldn't work."_ Abathur simply sat there as the hat mused to itself, not making any movements or sounds.  _"Ravenclaw could work, you're certainly intelligent enough, even without including the several hundred year head start. But knowledge isn't your goal, it's a tool for you. Your goal is... perfection. What's more, you know it's impossible, but you're still doing it. Well, with ambition like that, it'd better be_ SLYTHERIN!" The last word was announced out loud to the hall as a whole, met with applause by a table decorated with silver and green, which Abathur went to after McGonagall gestured him to.

After Abathur had been seated, and the rest of the terrans sorted, a large quantity of prepared biomass appeared on the table, seemingly out of thin air. Yet another thing to research. While he ate, Abathur inspected the humans sitting around him, noting to his mild surprise that many others were doing the same. A feat of caution that appeared to be beyond most other terrans. It warranted investigation later. But for now, acclimatization was the priority. Learning to fit in, the standard customs and rituals. All of them would be known in time. Whether that would be soon enough, remained to be seen.

**(Transition)**

After the meal, Abathur and the other first year students were led to a lower level of the large castle, into a humid stone chamber, apparently beneath the lake that Abathur had rowed over earlier. There, they were shown their sleeping quarters. Accompanying this was a short speech, packed with comments about superiority over other houses, some drivel about being snakes, finishing with a short phrase imploring the almost entirely immature terrans to use cunning, something Abathur doubted they were physically capable of at this point. Terrans aged so slowly, they took twenty years to do what the swarm did in twenty seconds. Well, not literally in most cases, but pretty close to that.

Overall, Abathur counted the first night as quite successful. He had infiltrated the human psionics, and was posed to learn of their secrets. He had managed to avoid detection, although he was loath to do it merely by a feature of an animated hat. And as a bonus, his accommodations vaguely reminded him of the Evolution pit, which was unexpected, but far from unwelcome. As Abathur set his few possessions near the bed, and prepared for the night, he couldn't help but think that things were going very, very well.

**(Transition)**

**Overseer: Mutated from the swarm's bureaucrat, the Overlord, the Overseer functions as the main scout and detector for the zerg. Being both more mobile and more capable of seeing the unseen than its previous state, Overseers often accompany the main forces of the zerg, sniffing out unknown threats and opponents, seeing through all disguises. The Overseer is also capable of spawning Changelings, and, while this is not used commonly, contaminating enemy structures, preventing them from functioning for some time. Overseers are essential components of the Zerg Swarm.**


	6. Lost in Translation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: None of the supposed science below is made by someone who knows precisely what they are talking about. Do not use this for a test. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(I assume all of you are aware of the transitions, yet here is the example. Why? Who knows?)**

To his mild surprise, Abathur was actually quite enjoying his time at Hogwarts so far. The classes were very interesting, hinting at the potential for fascinating uses of psionics, many of which no member of the swarm had witnessed or even considered, even if most of it was restricted to older students. Still, the implications and promises were fascinating. Even the classes that didn't deal directly with the uses of psionics, such as herbology were highly intriguing, showing how psionics and biology mixed together to create very, very interesting life forms. Even if none of their essences were useful, their structures and uses were very, very intriguing, even if the really interesting stuff was yet again only for the older students. Moreover the electives, although only mentioned in passing, were yet again unique and very much something Abathur wanted to learn more about. However, they were only available for older years. It seemed to be a common theme here. Still, what was learned was excellent, what had yet to be learned was tantalizing, and Abathur hadn't even had all the classes yet.

At the moment he was heading towards a class titled "Potions". Of the classes available, it didn't seem particularly interesting, more closely resembling chemistry than psionics. The ingredients and results may be somewhat interesting, but certainly not the techniques or knowledge. Regardless, Abathur continued forward, eventually coming to a dimly lit, humid room within the dungeons, reasonably close to his own quarters. He took out his collection of tools and materials, observing the number of fireplaces close to the desks. After some quick deliberation, he sat next to a round faced boy, nervously looking around the room. He looked up, startled by Abathur's sudden presence.

"Err... hi. I'm Nev-"

"Conversation, superfluous. Disinterest total. Cease attempts," Abathur cut in. He was here to learn about psionics, not random terrans. The terran immediately sank back into his seat. Abathur continued to wait for the start of the class, staring straight ahead. It did not take long. Barely a minute after Abathur had sat down, a long, dark haired terran in a billowing cloak strode into the classroom, and made his way to the front of the class, where he began a speech Abathur almost paid attention to. Something about the powerful flowing blood of dunderheads? Past that point, the human decided to bombard a different student with questions. Abathur largely ignored the both the speech and the exchange in favor of combing through the list of ingredients in his book, and making minor muscular improvements.

He was quickly interrupted by the potions master. "Now, if we are done with showing how much Mr. Potter needs to study, we shall begin the cure for boils. Ingredients and instructions are in your book," He paused to tap the blackboard, "And on here. You may begin."

Abathur looked up at the ingredient list on the blackboard, checking it against the one in the book. There seemed to be no discrepancies, which gave him a sense of confusion. Surely this couldn't be the actual list? Incredulity filled his face as he walked over to the potions cupboard, looking through the ingredients contained within, closely. A quick taste test confirmed his suspicions. Ignoring the contents, he walked over to the potions master, who looked up to see his yellow eyes.

"Is there a problem, Mr...?"

"Abathur. Ingredients, imprecise. Inadvisable to use. Request more precise list."

"And what exactly is so imprecise about," Snape looked up at the board. "Horned slugs? They are right there on the board, and labelled clearly in the supply closet."

Abathur could hardly believe the terran. Did he truly not see the problem? Perhaps he thought Abathur was discussing something else. He began to clarify. "Listed ingredients, complex. Contains numerous substances, many useless for potion. Dilutes result, adds unneeded elements, reduces efficiency of product. Request list of useful derivatives," Abathur said, looking expectantly at Snape.

"Mr. Abathur, what 'useless substances are contained within, for example," Snape looked at the board again. "Ginger root?"

"Uncertain. Many possibilities. Do not know desired reaction. Is reason for request, determine reactions, can induce. Can do without, longer, more difficult." It would not have been an issue, were it not for the terran body he occupied. It simply wasn't capable of running the reaction experiments on a large enough scale as was required, even with the years of modifications. Thus the necessity of asking. Now to wait for the terran to fetch the list.

"If you have nothing better to do than waste my time with nonsense, you may return to your partner and continue your work," Snape said, glaring.

Abathur just stared at him. Did he honestly not grasp what he was saying? Did he truly not understand the finer points of his own area of expertise? Did he honestly expect Abathur to just dump in the ingredients, useless and disruptive elements included? He looked around the classroom. To his immense surprise, his classmates were doing just that. Each and every student was putting the already stated ingredients into the cauldron, barely treating them, then just dumping them in the cauldrons. Abathur simply couldn't understand. They were either ignorant or  _intentionally_ crippling their own works.

Abathur returned to his seat, where his partner had already began the potion without him. His head spinning, he simply watched in silence as the human ground up the snake fangs, before adding most of them straight in and heating the mixture. Abathur merely observed. It was simply beyond comprehension. The terrans were doing the equivalent of cutting their own toes off, and nobody seemed to notice or care except him. Abathur just didn't understand it. Then he realized he didn't need to.

All that he needed to do was correct it.

In a sudden rush of movement, Abathur pushed his partner aside, then dumped the boiling mixture done the nearest drain, and ran to get replacement ingredients. Ignoring his partners protests, he then returned to the table and pushed his partner aside, taking all the tools and materials for himself. First the snake fangs were held up and inspected at eye level. Seemingly random bits of material were shaved off and discarded, before the fang was ground up and added to the pot. As the fangs boiled, Abathur inspected the horned slugs. He proceeded to remove the edges of the foot,. Then came the porcupine quills. Then the Punguous onions. Then the dried nettles. Each and every ingredient was examined, dissected and summarily added, parts that were inert, parts that would simply break apart, and parts that would damage other components all removed. In the end, every ingredient was reduced to the bare essentials. All useless fluff was cut away..

Finally, after each ingredient was prepared, Abathur put it into the cauldron in front of him, roughly following the guidelines on the board and in the book. At several points, Abathur had to stop his partner from "helping". If nothing else, the child seemed to have a talent for creating explosions, intentionally or not. However the timing was very inappropriate. Despite the intrusions, Abathur soon had a deep red potion sitting in front of him. He grabbed a bottle, filled it with the potion, then took his completed project up to the front. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Abathur, your potion isn't supposed to be nearly this dark. Would you perhaps like to go back and try again?"

Abathur remained still. "Color irrelevant. Possibly because of loss of contaminants. Potency increased. Adequate for intended purpose."

Snape sighed internally. Even if the boy was one of his snakes, he was stretching Snape's already thin patience. Well, the least he could do was humor the boy. "I'm sure you don't mind if I test that then?" Snape put a hint of a patronizing tone into his question. It wouldn't do to get soft after all.

"Acceptable outcome," Abathur replied. He was curious. How would a terran test the potency of a potion without Abathur's own tools and insights. Would he taste it? Did he have a test subject ready? Was there a reactant that would demonstrate it? As Abathur watched, he was rewarded with the sight of Snape waving his wand over the bottle, causing several neon numbers and letters to float in the air in front of the wand. Snape glanced over the numbers, then, blinking, looked through them more closely. While the display was just nonsense to Abathur, he did recognize mild surprise on the potion master's face.

Snape turned to Abathur. "Surprisingly, your work is quite exceptional. Full marks Mr. Abathur. You may return to your seat." He glanced at the display once more, then dispelled it. Abathur continued to look at Snape for a second more, then turned around and began to make his way back. He allowed a grimace to form across his face. That solution had been far from ideal. All Abathur had done was remove the obviously useless parts, a simple task with minor results. He still had left numerous poor substances within it, for fear of crippling the reaction. And the terran had judged it "exceptional"? All that demonstrated was a lack of standards and knowledge on the human's part, rather than great skill on Abathur's. It was naught but disappointing.

After the class had ended, two masters of their respective crafts moved apart from each other. One, a master of ingredients, mixing and matching, studying chemical power, was pleasantly surprised by the other master's skill in said craft. The second master, a master of bone and flesh, of strands and sequences, walked away disappointed in humanity and the first master. The difference was, the second master could fix both.

**(Transition)**

Abathur had taken to the habit of wandering through the abandoned castle corridors during the night. It was a surprisingly productive way to spend the evenings, as well as serving a few other purposes. For one, it got him away from the distractions of the terrans sharing his living space. He quickly tired of their snoring, discussions, and, most of all, their attempts at dominance games. They thought to create dominance with words. Words! Not even a hint of psionic connection. It was as if the terran society was entirely based on transient phrases, which Abathur knew to be absurd. After all, what kind of society of sentients could function without a stable mental connection? No, more likely the terrans were simply too immature for it. But to think they could succeed with it was simply insulting. Abathur couldn't even retaliate, for fear of discovery.

It was also a good way to find things otherwise unknown. Rooms completely abandoned, random books and other knowledge reserves unavailable elsewhere. Abathur had found books ranging from  _Animagi and you_ , to  _A Wizard's guide to the Bedroom Arts_ , although, oddly, both those titles were sticky and had a number of stains for some reason. There was even the occasional psionic pest Abathur could take the essence of. Although some of the latter were more tricky than others. He had had to spend an hour isolating and counteracting the Doxy toxin when it had been introduced to his system. Regardless, the knowledge and essence were well worth the pains, and promised more and better things in the future.

When his expeditions were coming up empty, they also provided a conveniently distraction free time to work on his own form. Even after years of work, the terran form had so many inadequacies that need correcting, and there was always something else to improve or fix, or bits of new essence to integrate or store. Speaking of that, Abathur increased his eyes sensitivity to light. He had to be absolutely sure of what he was seeing.

Abathur had thought it one of humanity's greatest successes. It had been a monument to terran ingenuity and creativity in spite of their biological flaws. He had believed it almost zerg-like in its efficiency. Yet what he saw before him completely erased that. It told him that terrans preferred to avoid problems rather than solve them. It told him their attention and knowledge extended only to the end of their sensory organs. Most of all, it told him of the terrans simple and sheer  _inefficiency and waste._

Before Abathur stood pits and piles of absolutely huge amounts of human waste.

This, was completely irredeemable. Potions, at least, still worked, were still functional. But every aspect of what Abathur saw was infuriating. The stockpile was constantly being fed by various tubes, which presumably was the endpoint of terran plumbing. There was a great amount of mass here, but not nearly enough to account for all of humanity, meaning there must be similar piles scattered all over the planet. All of this, combined with the fact that he had thought it praiseworthy... it awoke sheer fury that Abathur had not felt since Zerus.

But... there were still possibilities here. This much biomass could be used for, well, essentially anything. It would take time, years even, and transportation would be an issue, but if the terrans kept adding to it, and Abathur kept converting it, then it would be his biggest asset to date. After all, he could always speed it up later.

Abathur raised his left hand, held it in the air momentarily, then flicked it out at his biomass. Barely visible, a series of spores lost their grip and floated down, resting on the waste. The first growths would begin soon, and spread exponentially. After a critical mass, roots would spread through the entire area, refining the biomass, and using it to spread his own growth. Bacteria would burrow into it, preparing it for conversion before the spores reached that critical mass. Abathur had no essence that was properly suited for this task, making most of the organisms used improvisational at best, and downright makeshift at worse. However the task would still get done. And Abathur would have enough resources to do whatever was necessary.

Abathur stood still for a few minutes, watching as the preliminary growths took root and grew, preparing to spread and reproduce perpetually. Then, he turned around and walked out, the smell and sight of the feces fading behind him. As Abathur turned the corner, he couldn't help but feel grim satisfaction. The terrans greatest folly would be the swarms greatest asset. No one could accuse Abathur of being poetic at the best of times, but even he had to admit to the irony of the situation. What the terrans ignored would bite them in the ass, possibly literally.

Abathur rounded another corner as he made his way back to the Slytherin dormitories. He had been out long enough, and being caught would make further excursions that much more difficult. A quick retreat would cover his bases, and leave him free to explore the castle the following nights. At least, that was the plan. It was abruptly halted when the headmaster of Hogwarts appeared suddenly in front of him as Abathur rounded yet another corner. Dumbledore blinked.

"Well well, Mr. Jar-,"

"Abathur." Abathur was quickly getting tired of doing this.

"Mr. Abathur. This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing out so late?" Dumbledore asked.

"Was just leaving." Abathur made to get around Dumbledore, but soon found that the elder terran was everywhere he tried to go.

"Now, don't be in such a rush. I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't mind if you got back a bit late while talking to the headmaster." The implications being, he would mind otherwise, and there would be consequences, which could hamper his future efforts.

"Conversation, acceptable. What topic?" Abathur asked, relenting.

"Well, how was Hogwarts been for you so far Mr. Abathur? I recall hearing that back at the orphanage, you weren't in the happiest situation," Dumbledore said, and begin to walk along the corridor, Abathur following.

"Hogwarts, good. Knowledge increasing at acceptable rate. Unsure of reference to orphanage. Situation there, acceptable," Abathur replied, confused at the places mentioned. It certainly hadn't been an ideal habitat, but it was still surrounding by a fairly diverse ecosystem, with plenty of essence, and the caretakers were decidedly non-interventionist.

"What I mean, is that you had no friends there. Surely it was lonely, not having anyone to talk to?" Dumbledore said. "Perhaps you have made some friends here?"

If anything, Abathur was even more confused. "Why? Friends do not serve definite purpose. Unnecessary, take time, are superfluous."

Dumbledore looked down at Abathur, a disappointed look shown on his face. "Mr. Abathur, friends are people you can rely on in a crisis, who support each other, who share experiences, good and bad. They are certainly not "superfluous" and are far from a waste of time."

Abathur said nothing. Clearly, there were aspects of terran society he had far underestimated. Among these were the focus on companionship, evident just from how vehemently the headmaster spoke of it. This would have to be corrected. But how? He had to rely on others for it, and more humans around him would increase the risk of discovery. But then again, so would staying alone, standing out. Not to mention the difficulties of finding terrans that didn't already dislike him. It was a conundrum that would need solving.

While thinking about this, apparently both Abathur and Dumbledore had arrived at the Slytherin dorm entrances. Abathur made to head in, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Mr. Abathur, the purpose of Hogwarts is not just to learn, but to meet people, and grow from it. I feel many people neglect these parts, thinking they have time for them when they grow up. I hope you will not be one of those people."

"Do not worry. Will grow,will change," Abathur said. Dumbledore released him, and walked off with a nod towards Abathur. Abathur walked through the doorway after stating the password. Only when Dumbledore was out of earshot did he add, "Will change to swarm."

**(Transition)**

**Drones: Drones are the basic workers of the swarm, charged with harvesting and transporting resources to hatcheries, where they are processed for the swarms use. Drones resemble clawed bats, hovering over the ground on a large membrane, stretched out around the main body. The membrane also serves as a protective covering during the drones secondary function. When given resources, the membrane of a drone swells over a surface of creep, and fills with fluid. The drone, contained within this bubble, grows to become any desired structure of the swarm, from hatcheries to spine crawlers. The drone in this process is irreversibly changed, meaning it can no longer harvest, and a replacement must be created. This process can be aborted at any time before completion, refunding most of the materials, and allowing the drone to continue harvesting. While drones are not designed for combat, they can still attack lighter enemies in a pinch. Pun intended.**


	7. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No actual science is here. Except the science that allows you to load up the page and see it around the world. That's science. In the story, however, there is none. Also, don't own the stuff.
> 
> **(If you wear glasses, I highly recommend transition lenses. They are very useful)**

 

 

Abathur didn't really understand Halloween, or for that matter, any human holiday. Why bother consuming extra food, and putting up random scraps at one's dwelling on a particular day? It wasn't any different from another, aside from the obvious temperature and meteorological variations. Some of them, from what he understood, functioned as methods of remembering significant events, which Abathur supposed was understandable, given the terrans flaws in memory. But some, such as the aforementioned Halloween, were simply baffling. From what he had managed to pick up, it was something about spirits, monsters, and pumpkins. What relations they had to each other, much less terrans as a whole, was beyond comprehension.

Still, they each had their upsides. Halloween, it seemed, had a feast of food, which was far from unwelcome. Abathur was running through biomass as fast as the school provided, all the changes he was making needed energy, so he was taking advantage of the feast to take in as much of it as he could, as fast as he could. He noticed some stares from the other Slytherins seated nearby, but ignored them. They hadn't done anything when he'd done it before. Not to mention, the bigger, lower intelligence one's a bit to his left were doing it too.

Abathur had had much less productive time periods. Of course, he had also had more productive ones, but no opportunities were preventing themselves for anything better than stocking up on biomass. That is until the terran with the annoying speech defect came running into the hall, disheveled, distressed, and screaming at an unpleasant volume.

"Troll! In the dungeons!" He screeched. At a lower volume, he added. "Just thought you ought to know." The terran then collapsed promptly. Abathur continued to eat. Noting the others' lack of attention, he also took the opportunity to grab a partially burned gluten structure from in front of the blonde one. What were trolls again? Abathur vaguely remembered reading about them. Weren't they those large humanoid mammals with moderately greater strength and thick skin? Certainly something worth investigating, if not necessarily collecting.

Abathur finished his plate, taking a last bite of the gluten structure, then stood. He looked around at the chaos from the other students, watching them panic as the teachers and prefects desperately tried to impose some semblance of order. It was certainly a scenario that would make it easy to slip away, ideal for his purposes. The only thing left was to actually find the thing, and make his way to it. If Abathur was still with the swarm, he could have bounced his mind through tens of thousands of eyes, ears, and minds, seeing, hearing, and knowing all. As he was, all he could do was work with the sensory organs he had, and his own, still underdeveloped psionic senses. It would have to do. Ignoring the mad scrambles of the terrans, Abathur made his way through the crowds, exiting the decently sized hall.

Abathur listened intently as he wandered the corridors, listening, hopefully, for grunting, heavy footsteps, perhaps random snapping sounds. As such, he was quite surprised to hear not only grunting, footsteps, snapping, and smashing, but the screams and shouts of younger terrans. Abathur broke out into a run, rounding a corner to find three children fighting the troll. Or at least, the assumed troll, although the castle didn't have a particularly wide selection of large, oddly tinted bipeds with large clubs. Well, not oddly tinted ones anyway. The terran-giant hybrid covered the other categories.

Abathur ran at the fight, attempting to get to the troll before the others damaged it beyond study, managing to reach it right when the troll was beginning a swing towards the red-haired one. Abathur leapt into the air, pulling back his arm. Right before he would have contacted the troll, he pushed the limb forward, striking the troll directly in the ear. A strike like that from a full zerg would have killed the troll then and there, either snapping its spine, or simply cutting through the skull into the brain. A blow from a terran would have barely drawn its attention. Abathur's blow staggered the troll, causing it to lurch a few steps, and interrupting its swing. In retaliation, the troll swung its club back at Abathur. Abathur managed to bring his arm up to block the swing, for what little good he did. When the club made contact, there was a sickening crack, and Abathur himself was flung backwards, flying into a wall, before sliding down onto the floor in a heap.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed the troll's intended victim, before gulping as the troll's attention turned back to him. The troll and the three other terrans were soon drawn back into conflict, with no notice able to be afforded to the evolution master. Abathur lay meekly, dazed and in pain. With considerable effort, he drew himself upright, blocking the repetitive pain signals, and reorienting neurons to better adapt to the collision and fixing other, similar issues as much as he could. Facilities regained, Abathur looked down at his right arm. It was lying limp against his side, angled unnaturally at the fore and upper arm. With a deeper look, he could sense four distinct breaks along the limb, along with innumerous cracks.

Without healing, this would be a significant detriment to Abathur. Either he turn himself over to the terran medics, which would likely result in discovery, or... well, he hadn't tried  _that_ for well over a decade, since before he... transferred. But with the terrans still trying, only somewhat successfully, to fight the troll, he only had so much time before his life was at risk. There was no other option. Abathur closed his eyes and concentrated. He gathered his power, condensing it slightly to the right of the center of his form. Then, with a push of intent, he released it. His energy flowed through his body, encasing and penetrating every cell, illuminating the area with a orange-pink glow. His arm snapped back into place, the bone sealing itself along the muscle with perfect precision, the tissue and vessels following suit. With the excess energy from the burst, he wove intricate structures beneath his skin, insect inspired carapace and armor, hidden from view. With a green tint in his eyes, Abathur stood, successfully Mended, and ready to engage in combat once more.

Abathur snuck around the troll, making sure to avoid its attention while it tried to pummel the humans. From the looks of it, they surprisingly weren't dead yet, and actually might have managed to survive without Abathur's aid. But that would result in loss of essence, an unacceptable outcome. When he had reached the troll's back, Abathur reached up and grabbed it's shoulder, flexing the muscles in his palm to push the jellyfish derived barbs into its unsuspecting flesh. Then he did it again. Both times, the troll barely noticed, the harpoon-like structures barely penetrating into its thick skin. The troll reared around, prepared to smack the interloper away again, but was distracted by its own club moved into its face by the black-haired terran, and a stick shoved up its nose by the red-haired one.

Abathur stepped back and appraised the threat. If his barbs weren't enough to penetrate the skin, he needed something better. Gathering the remaining energy from the Mend, he moved it to the underdeveloped plates at the tips of his fingers, flowing it through sequences contained, but not yet expressed. Soon the nails grew to many times their previous length, tipped with a blade that would be more appropriate on a hawk than a terran. With the troll still distracted, Abathur thrust his hand forward with a scream, thrusting it palm deep in the troll's flesh. With no armor blocking the barbs, Abathur flexed his hand once more. A toxic mix of dozens of venoms was injected into the troll. Its eyes registered surprise, then pain, then they turned dull and lifeless. With a last gasp the troll fell forward and lay still, leaving the terrans and Abathur standing around its corpse, panting.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" said the red-haired one.

"I think we just won, Ron," said the one with the facial disfigurement.

"Alright, but where in Merlin's name did he come from?" The now-named Ron pointed at Abathur accusingly.

Well, this was bad. He hadn't anticipated others also trying to engage the troll. In an effort to hide, he put his hands behind his back, and began chemically eating away at his nails, hoping to trim them before they noticed.

"Was seeking to return to quarters. Lost path. Encountered you. Sought to help." Lying was not something Abathur was accustomed to. Most of the time, there was no need for it. But this would have to do. Fortunately, he was spared having to continue by the arrival of various teachers.

"What is going on here?" McGonagall demanded. All of them simply stood in silence for a second, before the longer haired younger terran stepped forward.

"It's my fault professor," she said. "I read about trolls in a book, and thought I could deal with it. Ron and Harry only came to help me out. And he," She looked over at Abathur. "Actually, I don't know your name."

"Abathur."

"Abathur here got lost trying to get back to his dorm, ran into us, and helped us take it down," she said.

McGonagall stared disapprovingly at the quartet. "Taking on a troll is a very, very dangerous thing to do. 1p points each from Gryffindor, and 10 from Slytherin as well. Now, are any of you hurt?"

"I think Abathur got punched into a wall," The black haired one said.

"Did not occur. Am healthy. No attention required," Abathur said.

"Alright then. If everyone is okay, you may return to your dorms. And make sure to tell a teacher where you are going next time," McGonagall said.

With that the group began to disperse. Abathur moved to split away and return to his dorm. He was interrupted by the black haired one. "Hey, Abathur. Want to walk back with us?"

Abathur wasn't sure how to react. Fortunately, Ron did it for him. "Harry, mate, could I talk to you for a second?" Ron took Harry aside, and while Abathur couldn't hear most of the conversation, he did catch a few words.

"...a snake, Harry, a Slytherin!"

"...troll was swinging at you..."

"...just plain weird..."

"...that about Hermione, too..."

Eventually the pair separated and turned back to Abathur. "Alright, I guess, you can come with us if you want," Ron said. Abathur was about to refuse, until he remembered Dumbledore. The elder terran was in a position of great power, and if he discovered Abathur, that would be a nightmare scenario. And he was already on thin ground with the friend debate. Perhaps, if he used the terrans as camouflage, it would avoid additional attention.

"Acceptable," said Abathur. He walked over to the terrans, and as a group, they began walking down the corridor. After all, Abathur reasoned, it wasn't as if these terrans were particularly dangerous, or in a good enough position in their society to make any massive attack. Should they attack him, Abathur thought as he licked the troll blood from his hand and noting the sequences, they shouldn't be too hard to eliminate.

**(Transition)**

**Roach: One of the most commonly deployed zerg forces, roaches are fairly durable acid spitting creatures, one of the swarms most versatile ground units. Roaches somewhat resemble beetles, with a large, round shell, topped with two scythe-like blades. The roaches main attack is launching an acid spray towards their foes, dealing moderate damage. Roaches also possess the rare ability to move while burrowed, an ability shared only with the Infestor, and some variants of the Swarm Host. This allows them to sneak into areas normally very difficult to approach, and launch a surprise attack. While burrowed, Roaches also heal at an extremely rapid rate, allowing a skilled controller to make them last far beyond the normal limits of their health. Roaches also possess the ability to morph into the bile spitting Ravager.**


	8. Primal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Science, as always, is utterly lacking from the following material. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(This is quite the transition tradition)**

"Of course it was Snape! Who else could it be?" Ron exclaimed.

"Oh, come on Ron. Snape's a  _teacher_. Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him if he was evil," Hermione said. The group was walking along the corridor, Harry still in his quidditch uniform, and attempting to get the taste of Snitch out.

"Hermione, correct. Snape not possessing motive to kill Harry. Claim illogical," Abathur stated. Personally, he thought the argument quite stupid. The logical move would have been to ignore the aggressors and prevent the attack from occurring again by other means. Or eradicate or infest everyone around to prevent any risk, but that wasn't feasible yet.

"Then what was he doing during the match? Why else would he be looking directly at Harry and muttering?" Ron continued to argue.

"Have found ter... humans do that often. Usually when defecating," Abathur said. He didn't know camouflage could be so talkative.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at Abathur. Had he said something wrong? Terrans could be so unpredictable. "Abathur," Hermione said. "Sometimes I really wonder about you."

"But ignoring that, Snape has plenty of motive! He worked for You-Know-Who," Ron continued.

"Incorrect. Do not know who. Clarify," Abathur said.

"You know, Voldemort," Harry said, ignoring the others' flinches. "The Dark lord?" Abathur just stared at him blankly. Perhaps he should have investigated the psionics history more.

"How have you never heard of You-Know-Who?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, he's in all of the history books," Hermione said. "You've never read about him?"

"No. Still do not understand relevance. If Snape, servant of Voldemort," Abathur noted the flinches. "Does not give motive to kill Harry." Abathur noted the continued stares.

"Of course it does! Harry was the one who defeated You-Know-Who!" Ron practically shouted. Abathur didn't see why he was being so aggressive.

"When?" Abathur asked. Ron somehow became even redder, a difficult feat considering his hair pigmentation. Abathur was almost impressed.

"When he was a baby!" Ron was no longer employing any method to regulate his volume.

"Unlikely," Abathur stated. "Infants possess minimal brain, muscle development. Incapable of combat. Not possibility."

"Well, that's just how it happened," Hermione said. "All the books say the same thing." Harry himself was quiet throughout much of the exchange. Abathur did not say anything as the argument continued. It took some time to conclude

**(Transition)**

Abathur was once more wandering the corridors after hours, a task that was much easier with most of the terrans out of the castle for the winter. The biomass refinery required fairly frequent inspections, and the castle still held numerous things to discover, knowledge and essence alike. Recently Abathur had even managed to integrate a particularly interesting creature, an arthropod he had found feeding off psionic energy in an old storage room filled with cauldrons. The ability to digest other forms of energy was always in demand, and this one seemed to be quite versatile. Abathur had killed and preserved a few, for healing, breeding, and experimentation at a later time, consuming the essence of a few more for integration into his own form. It was a complex system, which would take a while, but the ability to absorb psionics, possibly even in spell form if scaled enough would be well worth it.

All in all, it was a very good day, with few surprises and much progress. Abathur was enjoying himself, playing with the new sequences. Then he heard the footsteps. Abathur quickly hid behind a corner, peeking around the edges. He did not want to be caught again, especially when there was more focus on him, simply due to the less numerous students. To his surprise, he saw nothing. If anything, that heightened his suspicions. Terran psionics were infamous for their ability to pass beyond sight. It only made them more deadly. Abathur remained still, listening for any further movement, looking for the telltale shifting of the light. Ghosts were skilled, able to sneak in and out of anywhere. So it was quite a surprise to Abathur when the cloaked terrans revealed themselves through two disembodied pairs of sneakers, walking through the open corridor.

Abathur observed their movements, intrigued. The terrans hadn't seemed to notice him, so Abathur continued to trace them throughout the castle, staying a distance away. As he followed the cloaked beings, he noted the difference between the technological cloaking traditionally used, and whatever the terrans in front of him were using. There was no shimmer, no light emitted, even outside of the terrans visual spectrum, no distortion in the air among. The only way Abathur could follow them was through the noise they made (he could hear many muffled demands for one to move over), and the curiously uncovered sneakers. It was useful, hopefully a spell or biological mechanism that he could claim.

Soon the terrans stopped, turning into a room devoid of anything but a large mirror against the wall. The cloaking device was removed, now appearing to be a piece of fabric, with Ron and Harry revealed underneath. Abathur stood back and observed them. There may be no apparent threat, but that did not mean caution was unnecessary. However, all they seemed to be doing was staring into the mirror, eyes glazed over. Cautiously, he moved behind them, observing their faces, and trying to understand what was occurring. They seemed entranced, staring fixedly at the mirror. In fact, they only noticed Abathur when he was but a couple feet behind them.

"Oh, Abathur. What are you doing here?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Was.. exploring. Encountered Ron and Harry, followed," Abathur answered.

"What? But we were under the..," Harry trailed off, looking at the fabric laying beside him.

"Footwear not covered. Breach in cloak. Sounds, also projected," Abathur supplied. The adolescent terran's face filled with blood, for what purpose, Abathur was unsure. Perhaps it was to look more intimidating? "Your purpose, less certain."

"Oh yeah! You have to see this mirror, Abathur, it's amazing!" Ron exclaimed, tearing his gaze away from said mirror for a moment.

Abathur remained impassive. "Have seen mirrors. Reflects light. Not amazing."

"Yeah, but this mirror is different. It shows you.. look, just look at it!"

Abathur turned to see this apparently remarkable mirror. Then he kept looking. The image within was captivating at first glance. It was amazing and wonderful, magical. IT was everything Abathur had ever wanted, marvelous, unbelievable, and utterly, utterly wrong. Abathur could see it, but he could see so many ways in which it didn't work, so many scenarios where it didn't fit. It tried to change, to reflect the image that Abathur knew to be impossible, but as it had to, given what it was showing, it failed at every step. Abathur got angrier the longer it took, trying to meet his expectations, stealing from his mind and soul every little secret it could to create its mockery. Abathur stood and slowly approached the mirror. He moved forward until he was right in front of it, blocking the view from the others and drawing protests from Ron.

"Hey, mate, you're in the-," Ron was cut off as Abathur drove his fist straight through the mirror.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, alarmed, as Abathur drew his wand from his robes.

"Wingardium leviosa." Abathur's spell was almost whispered, but the effects were immediate. The defunct mirror was thrust into the air, and as Abathur waved his wand, smashed against every available surface, emitting a loud crash every time. Harry rushed up to Abathur, attempting to get him to stop.

"Abathur calm down! Stop smashing the mirror!" Harry shouted. Abathur turned around, and Harry found his breath trapped in his throat. Abathur's eyes were almost glowing in the low light, a green tinted yellow trapped within his sockets, and all of it was focused on him. But at least something had got through to Abathur. With one last glance at the shattered plane of glass, Abathur ceased the flow of power to his wand, letting the structure crash to the floor. Without another word, he turned and moved to exit the room, leaving the two shocked terrans behind. Right when he was about to reach the doorway, Ron spoke up.

"What... what did you see?" He asked hesitantly, as if afraid of another outburst.

Abathur paused. Then, with a slight turn of his head, he said but one word.

"Perfection."

**(Transition)**

**Overlord: Bulbous, flying creatures, Overlords function as middlemen, spreading and distributing the commands of higher zerg organisms to the soldiers and gatherers of the swarm. Through them, zerg commanders massively increase the number of zerg contained within a brood. Overlords also often function as early game scouts, flying away from the hive cluster and over enemy bases. Overlords are capable of spreading small patches of creep, mostly used to deny the enemy strategic positions, or cover small empty spots in creep carpets. They also function as the zergs transports, morphing large sacs as needed to transport zerg across the battlefield. Overlords morph into Overseers, the detectors of the swarm. While not the most interesting of units, the Overlord is essential to growing and developing hive clusters.**


	9. Camouflage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No science as usual. Do not mistake this fiction for fact. I am in no way a veterinarian or expert on dogs. Also, I don't own it.
> 
> It may seem like I'm rushing through this year, and I would like to clarify. I absolutely am. There's only so much that's interesting at this point in the story. Rest assured, there will be more content in later years.
> 
> **(Transitions look like this. If you haven't picked up on that by now, I can't say what you've been doing, but it was not good for memory.)**

 

 

"You can't keep a  _dragon,_ Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed. "You live in a wood hut!"

"Ah, little Norby wouldn't hurt a fly. Isn't that right?" the hybrid said, holding the infant dragon up to his face, where it was doing its best to set his eyebrows on fire. Abathur watched, transfixed. He could practically feel the essence in the creature, and it was all he could do to suppress the automatic reaction of the salivary glands. The ability of flight despite the obvious unsuitability for it, the seemingly endless supply of psionic infused fire, the armor, the strength, the power he could feel flowing off its every cell, everything about it screamed to Abathur to collect the dragons strands. If the giant-human hybrid turned his back for just a minute...

"My brother Charlie works at a dragon reserve. Maybe we could give the dragon to him," Ron suggested. An unacceptable outcome. The dragon essence belonged to Abathur, even if the terrans and the dragon didn't know it yet. Unfortunately, the others seemed to like that idea quite a bit. Perhaps redirection was in order?

"Alternate proposal. Dragon flesh, known to be beneficial to consume, very tasty. Rare opportunity. Consumption, leaves little trace. Solves all problems," Abathur said, looking directly at Ron. The terran had been observed to have a large appetite, critical in convincing the group. It certainly wasn't ideal, sharing the essence, but some was better than none, and he could probably get the skeleton too. An elegant solution. It didn't explain why all the others were staring at him, though.

In the end, the dragon was ferried away to the reserve, without Abathur ever getting a taste.

**(Transition)**

Abathur was almost ashamed that he had never been to the corridor that promised certain death earlier. Anything that would doom terrans was more likely to be very interesting to Abathur than actually deadly, it really should have been a high priority much earlier. To be fair, he only learned that it had promised certain death when his camouflage mentioned it during tea at the hybrid's house. Perhaps he should listen more to the terrans when they had those long speeches.

Regardless, Abathur was on his way now to take a look through it, when his camouflage quite literally ran into him. Ron, to be more precise, rounded a corner too quickly and rammed into Abathur, knocking them both to the ground. Both quickly got to their feet, Abathur coming up first with his wand in his wand, Ron a few seconds behind, Harry and Hermione standing behind. There were a few tense seconds where both participants were ready to fight each other, before recognition kicked in.

"Abathur? What are you doing here?" Ron asked, confused. Abathur was about to respond when Ron interrupted. "You know what, doesn't matter. Come on, we need your help! Snape's going to go after the Stone tonight!" Ron said, an excited expression on his face. Abathur had very little idea what he was talking about, so he did his best to mimic the expression while he racked his memory for the phrase. He had found that to be very effective when he didn't have any idea what humans were talking about. Still, he really should start paying more attention.

"I know, right?" Ron said, observing his expression. "Come on, we have to go quick!" The group resumed their frenzied rush, with the addition of Abathur. Abathur himself was just following along, not entirely sure what was going on, but certain that it was likely going to be interesting. Soon enough, the group arrived in front of the corridor that Abathur himself had wanted to explore, a happy coincidence. Right outside the door, the terrans stopped, seemingly nervous, with wands in hand.

"You have the flute, right, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah," Harry replied. Still, he seemed reluctant to enter. So, Abathur opened it for them, and looked inside. The only thing in there was a giant three-headed canine, loosely chained to the wall. Hardly interesting. In all honesty, the room was something of a disappointment. Of course, it could still represent a threat, showed by the three heads growling at him, before leaning back on his hind legs, preparing to jump. In response, Abathur pulled out his wand, evaluating the creature. The muscles were lackluster, showing a lack of exercise. The heads were poorly placed, they would get in each others way, reducing the efficiency of each. The mass was more of a detriment than a boon, making the heart work harder to power the already weak muscles, and providing too much weight on a creature designed for running. It was ridiculous, as if someone had thought you could just make something bigger and add more appendages to make it more dangerous, then lock it in one area and have it ready to fight at any time. Abathur could see a dozen ways to make it better.

Abathur was shaken out of his observations when the hound jumped. Again, slowly and inefficiently with that mass. A "wingardium leviosa," stopped the beast in its tracks, suspended in midair. Abathur flung the beast against the wall, stunning it. Not pausing, Abathur quickly said "petrificus totalus", locking the hound in place. Abathur approached the paralyzed being, taking a few hair samples for later consumption. He placed his free hand on one of the hounds necks, flexing his palm once. The dogs eyes turned glassy, and whatever movements it had left stopped. The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds. A pitiful display by a poorly made strain.

Abathur turned back to the terrans. They stood there, looking stunned, gazes alternating between the downed dog and Abathur himself. Harry held a flute, pulled halfway out of a pocket. It was an annoying habit, being stunned, that humans seemed to indulge in far too often for his tastes. Fortunately, this particular collection seemed to recover quickly.

"Um, good job Abathur. Come on, we have to keep going," Harry said, breaking the other two out of their stupor. Hermione seemed to take a bit longer than Ron, muttering about how dangerous Cerberus's were supposed to be, but she shook herself out of it soon enough.

Hermione moved to a trapdoor, previously hidden beneath the multi-headed canine, and opened it, peering down. She was soon followed by the rest of the group. All that was visible was darkness, even Abathur could only see vague shapes.

"Should we head down?" Hermione asked.

"We have to," said Harry. "We can't let Snape get the Stone."

"Cannot do if dead. Distance unknown. Likely fatal. Recommend getting more information, can find solution," Abathur said, lighting his wand with a Lumos, and pointing it down the pit. The light reached down the gap, revealing that not only was the hole less than 10 feet deep, someone had planted a convenient platform of plant growth. Not seeing any threat, Abathur jumped down, followed by his camouflage, landing on the vine laden platform. Out of habit, Abathur quickly consumed a sample. Then another. Then another. It was a fascinating specimen. Designed to strangle? But then why wasn't it... ah, weakness to light. Unusual in plants, but fixable. This could make a nice trap, perhaps a new kind of crawler? Abathur noticed the others' eyes on him as he devoured the plant.

"Did not have salad. Am hungry," Abathur said defensively. Ron hesitantly tried a bite, then spat it out.

"You must be really hungry mate," Ron said, shivering in disgust.

"Come on, we have to keep going!" Harry said, rushing ahead. Soon the quartet entered into a room filled with winged, colorful keys, sealed by a large door and a noticeable keyhole. Harry took the lead, grabbing a broom and seizing the key, before inserting it into the lock. The next chamber was noticeably empty, despite the obvious signs of  _something_ supposed to be there. It had an empty feel, and the terrans moved through it quickly.

The next chamber was much more interesting, containing a number of still statues arranged in two rows on each end, one colored white, one black.

"It's chess," said Ron

"I think we have to win to pass it," Hermione guessed.

Harry and Hermione turned to Ron. "Do you think you can do this?" Harry asked. "We only get one shot."

Ron gulped, looking at the figures, most of which looked like they would crush him in a second. "Yes," he finally said.

Abathur observed as Ron directed his troops. The game looked interesting, a valid tool for training tactics, and Ron was far from unskilled. It may be worth investigating this game in the future, no doubt it would provide a nice diversion.

Soon the opposing side was crushed, their king surrounded, with the minimal sacrifice of Ron. Clearly whatever was going on was important enough for him to sacrifice himself to allow the progression of the rest, a distinctly unterran attitude. Abathur resolved once again to pay attention to conversations in the future.

Soon the remaining three entered the next room, dominated by a table in the center holding up seven containers, as well as a single piece of paper. Harry led the way, moving cautiously to the center of the room. Just as everyone had gotten to the center, purple flames burst from the walls, forcing them to move forward to the center. At the same time, black flames moved from the door ahead, blocking their path Hermione read the paper.

"One of the potions will let us move forward, another will let us move back, and the rest are wine or-"

"Forward, back, wine, poison, poison, poison, wine," Abathur said. Another example of the terrans folly, their potions were so simple to analyze. Abathur removed the poison bottles, slipping them in his cloak for later consumption. New toxins were almost always interesting, so varied. Only two bottles were left, the one that allowed forward movement, half drained. The terrans looked at it, uncertainty filling their face.

"There's only enough for one," Hermione said. "Harry, you go through. You're the one that has to do this. And Abathur and I will both head back, but... there's not enough in that bottle either."

"Hermione, Harry, can go. Current position, adequate. Can find another way," Abathur replied. It would get them out of sight, where he could get through on his own. Fire resistance wasn't too hard to do, especially with how low intensity these ones seemed to be. The troll based skin should help.

"Alright, if you're sure," said Hermione, relenting. She took the potion and went back through the purple inferno.

"Good luck Abathur," Harry said, before he too disappeared into the flame, leaving Abathur alone. Once the terrans had disappeared through the flame, Abathur began his work, sending signals to his skin to produce an insulating layer, increasing the water content of the surface cells. Abathur sat still as his skin grew distorted, as if seen through moving water. Now protected, Abathur stood, and, without hesitation, stepped through the black fire. That was a mistake.

The flames burned Abathur, eating through most of the protective layer instantly. Soon enough it got to his skin, where it caused his flesh to blister and bubble, scorching the cells, causing them to burst. His nerve cells sent signals of agony, almost enough to make Abathur collapse. Whatever fire this is wasn't normal, wasn't containable, wasn't stoppable by what Abathur had. He should have taken a sample of the potion. This was far from ideal.

Fortunately, Abathur soon made his way through the flames, scorched, but alive and healing. He stumbled into the next chamber to see Harry wrapped up in ropes, and the professor with the brain defect monologuing. More interestingly, monologuing without any apparent errors. A false act? Plausible. After all, if Abathur could do it, then a terran already familiar with this society could as well. Fortunately, it appeared neither participant had noticed him, leaving Abathur free to observe the remainder of the room. Which didn't take long as the only other object in the room was the Mirror, repaired.

That shouldn't be too hard to correct. That pathetic mockery wouldn't stay intact if Abathur had anything to say about it. Avoiding the notice of the imposter, Abathur made his way around the room. With a levitation charm, Abathur had the mirror in the air. After a moment of consideration, Abathur sent it flying into the imposter. Harry likely wouldn't think it odd, considering his current position, and Abathur hadn't got around to harvesting any of the psionic's essence yet. With a loud crash, the mirror slammed into the imposters back, shattering it, and sending the imposter to the ground. Taking advantage of the distraction, Harry freed himself.

The imposter recovered surprisingly quickly, turning to Abathur with rage on his face. "You..." he said. "What did you do?" Harry took advantage of the distraction, grabbing the imposter around the neck. Surprisingly, the imposter then started to burn where Harry touched him, which, given the position of the hands, quickly interrupted the flow of blood to the brain, resulting in a quick death. Unfortunately, the corpse then crumbled utterly, leaving behind no essence for Abathur. Harry also seemed to lose consciousness, lying limp on the ground, leaving Abathur essentially alone.

As a burst of fire heralded the headmaster and an avian Abathur would very much like to get his hands on, the only thing Abathur could focus on was that he still had no idea what was going on.

**(Transition)**

**Zergling: One of the main combat units of the swarm, zerglings are living manifestations of one of the swarms main strengths, their ability to spawn an unending stream of lighter units. Zerglings are relatively small creatures, often compared to hounds, albeit ones with carapace, wings, clawed limbs extending from their back, and tusks. While not all that dangerous on their own, there is no such thing as a lone zergling. From the moment of their birth, there are two, in some strains even three, zerglings from a single larva, their DNA simple enough to spawn numerous copies. Combined with their low costs and extremely rapid movement and attacks, zerglings are often seen swarming in massive amounts, bringing armies and structures death in seconds, even in highly developed hive clusters capable of deploying more advanced creatures. Zerglings also possess the ability to morph into the highly explosive Baneling.**


	10. Mutation Complete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There is a complete and utter lack of science contained within the below text. If you take this as fact, you will fail high school a dozen times over. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(TRANSITIONONONONONONONONON)**

Abathur sat down at the table just as the headmaster stood up to speak, delaying the intake of biomass for the entire group, a poor logistical choice. Terrans were always more docile after nutritional intake, and it was unlikely that they would pay much attention while hungry. Abathur would not make that mistake again, not after the corridor with all its essence, even if all that resulted in the delay was a number of minor burns and an explanation Abathur didn't have the context for. Oh, and the hospitalization of Harry and Ron, but that wasn't really important. Even as Abathur reflected upon the past few days, the headmaster spoke.

"As we come to the end of another year, there remain only a couple things left to discuss, before you are rid of us. I am sure you all are looking forward to that almost as much as your teachers are looking forward to being done with you for the year," he paused, waiting for the laughter to subside. "Before we begin to eat and award the house cup however, some last minute points are in order. For excellent chess skills from Ron Weasley, I give 100 points to Gryffindor," The hall was silent. "For Hermione Granger, and her ability to make sacrifices, I award 100 points to Gryffindor. For their bravery in the face of adversity, I award 100 points each to Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom," The hall, except for Slytherin, burst out into cheers And for his expert demolition skills, I award 100 points to Thenabar," Abathur twitched. "Jaren. I believe that puts Gryffindor in the lead. Congratulations Gryffindor, on winning the House Cup!" The banners changed to red and gold, displaying a lion, and once again the hall erupted into cheers.

Abathur was still waiting for his biomass. It never ceased to amaze him how much useless ceremonies terrans could insert into any event right before food arrived. It had been less than a week and this one event was already making him rethink his listening to humans policy. At last the food arrived, in the sudden manner that Abathur had become accustomed to. He really did have to investigate that, that kind of resource transportation would be useful. A job for another day.

His head full of plots, plans, and essence, Abathur eat the meal set up before him. The year had been full of gathering, on the spot improvisations, learning, and avoiding detection. Now the year was coming to a close, and it was time for consolidation. The next phase of modifications was ready, and Abathur could hardly wait.

**(Transition)**

"You guys promise to write?" Hermione said. The quartet had arrived at the platform after the train ride. Ron had gotten pulled away into a pack of terrans with surprisingly prevalent red hair. Abathur wondered if that was normal. Harry remained with the other two, but kept glancing nervously at a group of particularly metabolically poor terrans. Looking at the absurd amounts of fat, both low and high, Abathur was more glad than over that he removed the possibility of that genetic mismatch.

"Cannot promise. Summer, contains many plans. Time, may not be available. Will attempt," Abathur replied. Deflections were much more useful than solid answers, very versatile. Especially if you had no intention of writing.

"I'll write if I can, Hermione. Can't promise anything either though," Harry said, with another nervous glance. Was this normal terran behavior? Abathur could hardly call himself an expert on terran social structure, but usually caretakers of any species didn't inspire this kind of behavior. It would be a huge detriment to the reproduction rate. Not his concern though.

"Well, I'm writing to both of you, and you better respond," Hermione said forcefully, before pulling them both in for a hug. "I'll see you both next year," she said, before running off to join her apparent progenitors.

"I guess I'd better get going," Harry said. "I'll see you next year then, Abathur."

"Most likely outcome," Abathur confirmed, before Harry ran off. Abathur waited a moment, before leaving the platform himself. He took a slightly different path, stepping out of the train station to a side alley, before raising his wand in the air. After a few moments, a tall purple bus appeared, plowing straight through the assorted traffic without touching a single vehicle. Abathur boarded the vehicle, which took off seconds later, moving as if every structure in the area was but mist. It took little time to disappear into the maze of steel.

**(Transition)**

The bus eventually passed the outskirts into a more forested area, where it stopped, apparently in the middle of nowhere. It was in that spot where Abathur exited, the purple contraption vanishing into the trees behind him.

Abathur honestly was a fan of the Knight Bus, even if it was a terran-made contraption. It let his body adapt to the vigorous explosions and wide forces of the battlefield without actually being in a battlefield. And it got him to the appropriate location. Speaking of the location, it was rather bare, being little more than a very small clearing within a decently sized forest, a nondescript place which likely had countless other locations just like it. In other words, it was ideal for Abathur's purposes. After taking a moment to scan the area for immediate threats, he set to work. He walked over to a tree stump in the middle of the clearing, calling up the sequences straight from the Swarm for the first time in years. The remaining creep essence, so simple and so useful was built into a virus, an unfortunately weakened version of the standard hyper evolutionary virus that made the zerg able to assimilate. It took but a few seconds to load the virus into the tree stump, where the effects were immediate. At the point of infection, the wood slumped in, losing cohesion, before taking on a slimy appearance, with the remainder of the stump following shortly. Abathur watched as a squirming coat of reddish-brown almost creep spread out from the tumor like remainder of the stump, killing and consuming the smaller plants around it. Soon there was a thick carpet of creep covering the clearing, extending partially into the woods, collecting nutrients for use.

His preparations complete, Abathur lay down on the creep. It quickly covered him, submerging his body beneath the living layers. Once submerged Abathur began weaving the surrounding creep into a cocoon, durable and hidden, taking the nutrients from the creep. Abathur's body curled into a fetal position as the carapace enclosed it. Abathur himself extended his mind out of the body, permeating the cocoon and its contents. With all the steps done, Abathur began his work. It was about time that he underwent serious metamorphosis.

First to gain his attention was his limbs, more specifically his hands and arms. The jellyfish-derived barbs were still his most effective biological weapon. The muscles surrounding the barbs, as well as the barbs themselves, were strengthened, the harpoon-like ends grew and sharpened, to the point of being able to pierce stone, but still concealed within his palms and fingers. The venom production and storage was moved to the forearms, and amplified to a degree that would make a Defiler proud. It was still a limited, melee weapon, but it would be adequate.

Next was his carapace, or the pathetic human equivalent. The insect armor made for the troll was a poor choice, impromptu and rushed, limiting flexibility and only providing minimal protection. It was removed. Instead a more intricate design, based on the troll's defenses as well as carapace was added, weaved intricately through all layers of his skin. Ideally, providing much better defense, especially taking into account the trolls innate protection from psionics. The preparations were put in place, and the next part was examined.

The brain. Terrans minds were so malleable, so simple, and yet, they had potential that had eluded Abathur for years as to how to replicate. He couldn't meddle too much here, for fear of damaging the potential, but there was still improvements to be made. Namely, adding Overlord essence to it. Abathur could feel his mind improving, able to multitask, processing much better, extending its reach.

Then came the other systems. The digestive system size was minimized, roach acid added to enhance its efficiency.. The new space was used to add more dedicated facilities for DNA reading and spinning, as well as similar organs for other chemicals. The various waste systems were overhauled, reclaiming much more mass. The chizpurfle essence was added to every tooth, the miniscule thaumavoirc systems concentrated in the chitin, allowing Abathur to feed off magic. Similar systems were set up all over the body, constantly feeding on the small bits of energy present around Abathur. His muscles were exercised, condensed, improved. His sensory organs were improved tenfold, even if he couldn't appreciate that at the moment.

Bit by bit, Abathur improved himself, working in more and more essence to make an improved form. Every cell was revamped, proteins modified, efficiency improved. It was the first large scale improvement Abathur had done since arriving, made more difficult by the need to preserve aesthetic humanity. He remained in his cocoon for months, feeding off what the creep provided. The clearing he was in remained largely undisturbed, the few organisms that tried to eat the creep ending up poisoned, dying, and absorbed by the organic carpet. Abathur took their essence and mass. Even a number of owls arrived carrying letters, but most left after dropping their packages in the creep, simply confused at what they found. Abathur fed on the few that didn't. The letters themselves were saved, just in case.

At last, the final enhancement was complete, the last strand of essence spun. Abathur was ready to re-emerge from the cocoon. The cracking sound echoed through the empty space, breaking the silence of the clearing. As the pseudo creep receded from the cocoon, revealing its mottled green shell, cracks running through it. The cracks spread and the creep continued to decay, until eventually, a hand burst through. The hand was followed by another, which grabbed the ground and pulled up the rest of the body. An apparently human body emerged from the ground as the last of the creep dried up. The cocoon crumbled away as the contents stood up fully. It looked around with bright yellow eyes, with just a hint of green at the center. Abathur was ready.

**(Transition)**

**Nydus network: More of a large throat than a living creature, the nydus network is the swarms fast transport system, a large worm that transports massive numbers of zerg forces under the earth. A Nydus network consists of two parts. One, the Nydus network itself is a stationary structure, morphed from a Drone. Resembling a toothed cavity set in a ribbed dome, the nydus networks purpose is twofold. The first is to load zerg units into the network, preparing them for transport. The second is to generate Nydus worms, essentially giant tunneling cavities, which function as exit points for the Nydus network, as well as spreading creep. Once a worm or worms have been established, zerg may move freely between them, the cavities of the nydus worm transporting them quickly through the underground. Many battles have been lost because of a well placed Nydus worm quickly entering a good location, and disgorging its deadly cargo. Nydus worms are also utilized to transport zerg to and from hive clusters spread far across a planet, allowing for quick reinforcement. Nydus networks are versatile creations, frequently used to great effect.**


	11. Assimilation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As always a lack of actual science is quite prevalent throughout the following paragraphs. As is unnecessary vocabulary. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(A transition looks like this. Big whup.)**

Abathur walked over to the edge of a clearing, to a neat pile of clothes and other items hidden by the creep mere minutes ago, stopping several feet away, clothed only in skin. Abathur stood still for a few minutes, observing the world with new senses. The creases of the fabric, the smell of pine, the bird flying several hundred feet away, the rough ground poking into his soles, all washed over him. But the true enhancement was his mind, sending tendrils of thought rummaging through the matter and minds around him. With a thought, he dominated the simple minds of the ants around him, sending the small swarm over his clothes, sweeping away the debris accumulated on the clothes. Abathur explored his thoughts, previously so trapped, so singular, now spreading around him, taking several routes at once. It almost felt like being a full zerg again.

Abathur tried something else he had seen terrans psionics do. He spread his mind out over the piles. With a flex of will, the clothes rose, hovering over to Abathur before wrapping themselves around him. His wand flew into his hand. Fully clothed and equipped, Abathur then moved his attention to the letters in another pile of former creep. Abathur once again forced his will into the area, moving the letters up to him, then into his grasping hand. Abathur tore off the tops of each envelope, reading through the contents. Idly, he infected his clothes, a fungus like organism quickly growing through it and reinforcing the fabric. Abathur revelled at once again being able to split his attention so efficiently.

The contents of the letters were not as interesting. Ron had gotten bitten by a gnome, Hermione was learning incessantly, Ron had got into a fight with his siblings, Hermione had finished this or that assignment, Ron had gotten bitten by another gnome, Harry had his mail intercepted by some creature called a house elf then locked in his room like a prisoner, complete with iron bars, then broken out by the Weasleys in a flying car, Ron had been bitten by a gnome again, etc. Dull but necessary information gathering. Oh, and there was his Hogwarts letter, containing the list of supplies and books. Hopefully more advanced essences and psionic techniques would become available soon. The ones from last year were useful, but hardly impressive.

Abathur finished the last letter, then packed the papers into a small stack, pocketed for later. Turning to the woods, he raised his wand, heralding the arrival of the Knight bus once again. He boarded it once again, watching the impromptu evolution pit fall behind him, before it was obscured by the mass of trees. Abathur would have to remember that spot.

**(Transition)**

The trip to Diagon Alley was quick. Abathur knew where to get the supplies and textbooks, how to store them. There was only so much to do in the area, that, when Abathur had completed his gathering, he had simply very little to do. There was still over a week left before school started, and while there was always room to improve, Abathur still had no way to occupy himself for much of the time.

Bored, Abathur poked through some of the less mandatory shops. The other books in Flourish and Blotts were intriguing, even without the context required to understand some of them. Ancient Runes especially looked fascinating, a method of storing psionics outside of an organism. Abathur also picked up some additional books on magical creatures. Even if they weren't available, they were still valuable to learn about, for later location and assimilation.

Abathur briefly stopped by the shop selling broomsticks, but without sufficient funds or understanding of the enchantments, it was essentially nothing but a waste of time, within a period of time already set to be wasted. Finally, Abathur stopped in front of Magical Menagerie, glancing in at the merchandise. It was an impressive display, containing so, so much Abathur would like to consume. The poisonous, kaleidoscopic, streelers, the jewel-encrusted fire-crabs, the... cage containing terran headwear? Leaving aside the last one, Abathur saw essence to use in abundance, locked away in thin glass cases Abathur could shatter in a thought or a fist. Some requiring a "license", some being useless, while others were simply not permitted at Hogwarts, and the ones that were were boring. Even just a selection of creatures to experiment upon would be welcome.

Abathur paused. Now that was an idea. There were massive amount of terran creatures just going around their business, ripe for infestation and mutation. Of course, there weren't enough to make an army, not yet, not with the resources he had. But for experimentation, evolution, iteration, improving, acting as an evolution master once again, a sample population would be excellent.

The only issue was what species? Most organisms on this planet lived in decentralized habitats with smaller populations that were far from useful. Any species large enough to attract human attention would be traced back to Abathur. Another issue was the inherent differences in the social structure that Abathur could use, most being far too individualistic to easily submit to Abathur's work. It was then that a small line of moving dots drew Abathur's notice. Bending down to observe closer, Abathur found his specimens.

A line of ants crawled along the pavement, a supply line of biomass heading to their hive. Each organism working as a part of a greater whole, serving a single organism, a Queen. They were numerous, they were aggressive, they were diverse, they were adaptable, and, above all, they were easily infectable, considering the amount of physical contact and pheromone spreading they had. Not to mention too small to attract notice.

Abathur immediately returned to his clearing, scouting the area for any sign of the nearest ant colony, which didn't take long. A massive swarm of the creatures was clustered around a toppled log, eaten through with holes, and covered with carapace. Abathur sat still and observed them as he compiled the strands specialized for the hive. Occasionally, he plucked an ant from the bark, consuming it. Eventually, he took a random ant and held it up to his fingertip. Scores of harpoons plunged into the insects head, reaching deep into its brain before releasing the hyper evolutionary virus, dormant for now, into the ant, then released it to its fellows. It ran around in a circle, alarming the ants around it as it bumped heads with its fellows, passing pheromones, as well as the virus, through the antenna. Abathur watched the carrier ant as it wandered on the bark, spreading the virus further and further. It would take time before it would spread throughout the colony, or at least to the queen. But when the virus did, the ants of this colony would all be his.

**(Transition)**

Abathur stood once again at the platform of 9 and three quarters, watching the train load itself with the masses of human children. He glanced around for his camouflage, not seeing any of the members. He passed the time observing the other terrans, scanning their essence for anything interesting. When no sign of either good sequences or his camouflage, he picked up his cargo and moved towards the train, passing through the crowds. He eventually found a seat on a more isolated section of the train, settling in and placing his materials around the compartment. He cracked open and began to read one of his textbooks, while another section of his mind grew out of the compartment, scanning the incredibly powerful brains of those around him.

Soon, he would join them, stepping into the world of psionics, of new essence and new abilities. Of constant danger and the threat of death. Of more growth, evolution necessary just to survive. He could hardly wait.

**(Transition)**

**Ants (The following is, to the best of my knowledge, entirely accurate): Numbering approximately 10,000 trillion, ants are some of the most adaptable, diverse, and numerous species on the planet. Spread around the globe, thousands of species of ants fight and compete for resources, both with other organisms and themselves with a wide array of weapons. Some fight with the most powerful venom of any insect, some glide through the air on wings, others swim through water, some fight with jaws that bite past the speed of any other animal movement, some fight with the ability to clone themselves, some grow fast with the ability to farm, while others fight with a super-colony spanning much of the U.S., Europe, Japan, and Australia. Ants act with swarm intelligence, passing messages along with pheromones, and moving as a whole in vast numbers. Most ants serving a single, massive, reproducing queen, although some species are known to have many within a single colony. Ants are by far one of the strongest creatures for their size, lifting many times their own body weight. They vary enough in size that many colonies of the smallest ants could live within a space the size of a brain of the largest ant. Essentially, they are the Zerg of Earth, an unstoppable and innumerable force.**


	12. Infestation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The following is as much science as I am an iguana-walrus hybrid with scantily leather-clad leprechaun slaves. Which I'm not. Just to make that clear. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Train-sitions, a.k.a. train stations. This was funnier in my head.)**

The Queen was the first to awake. It had started as minor discomfort, an ache in the muscles, minor twinges in the thorax, nothing to be alarmed about, and nothing that could not be endured. But it grew, spreading throughout. Soon the ache was everywhere, stretching from her legs to her antennae, every part of her body screaming in pain. The Queen's children rushed in, desperate to defend from this foe, but found nothing. Still, whatever this malady was, it continued to grow. To her mandibles and eyes, until it eventually reached her thoughts. It twisted them, breaking them and pulling them apart. It was in this space between her thoughts that the Mind arrived.

**(Transition)**

Abathur's train ride could be summed up very easily as dull. Most of his time on the terran vehicle was spent reading his textbooks while making small talk with Hermione. It was a concept Abathur had fundamental difficulty with. Certainly the exchange of information was valuable, but most of the conversation was superfluous, unnecessary; it was incredibly unimportant what book was read where, or the color of an unnamed relatives fish. Unfortunately, it appeared to be a necessary part of human interaction.

Oddly, neither Harry nor Ron arrived, which was unexpected, but viable. Hermione was the most useful of the three in most commonly encountered situations, being most familiar with psionics. The reduced amount of camouflage was risky but adequate. Of course, perhaps they had merely taken an alternate route. No conclusions could be made.

Eventually, the ride came to a close. Abathur stepped off the train, walking over to the carriages pulled by the interesting looking equine organisms. Something in its essence was quite odd, and Abathur considered consulting his books for a description. He was just setting aside his trunk when he felt it. The virus had borne fruit.

**(Transition)**

The Mind reached to and through the Queen, shaping her, molding her. It took away the pains, replaced them with strength, it took the aches and made them more. It shaped and grew her thoughts, teaching her of concepts that were previously inconceivable. It taught her of the stars, of the Swarm in all its diverse forms, of the many that were one. It told her of essence, that was contained within her, that was within all. It taught her of tactics, of war, and while she understood only part, the Mind deemed it enough. It told her of it's plans for her and her colony, and of those beyond.

All the while, it shaped her, changed her. Into what, the Queen did not know.

**(Transition)**

Abathur spent the rest of the evening with only half a mind focused on his surroundings. He had exited the carriage and walked up the steps in little less than a mobile stupor. He listened to the song and the sorting following it only in the technical sense, sparing no attention to the terran ceremonies. All his focus was spent on the ant queen, molding it as best he could from this distance, allowing the creature to improve itself later. Already, he could feel its presence in a hive mind, see through its eyes from hundreds of miles away, even after being alone in thought for over a decade. He continued to spin strands as he ate the meal, as light fled from the sky. Abathur didn't bother sleeping. There was work to be done.

**(Transition)**

The Mind stayed with her for hours, shaping her body and essence. The Queen's mind expanded, no longer limited to its cage of flesh. Her limbs grew strong, her eyes saw the world anew, everything became more. At last, the transformation was complete, the Queen free to move. But the Mind had tasks for her, more plans.

It had her gather her children, to order them to gather massive amounts of food and flesh. They gathered all that was living, and some things that had been. Bark, twigs, beetles, nothing was to be passed over. The supply lines covered the log containing the colony with a sea of black carapace. The harvest was placed in piles throughout the colonies tunnels. When the Mind had determined it to be enough, it ordered the Queen to gather her children once more. Every last one of them.

**(Transition)**

The problem with the hyper-evolutionary virus, Abathur mused as he walked the Hogwarts corridors, was that, without a specific goal, it had a tendency to churn out ill-formed monstrosities that were almost worse than their starting state. The infested terrans for example, were slow, frail, and low damage. It was a standard reaction to introducing the virus to large populations without a template, the result was half-formed, short-lived, and pathetic, useful only as cannon fodder.

But with the right oversight, or a specific goal, the virus was a powerful tool to weave essence. It could turn a population of any species into fully fledged zerg in little time. It could create new strains in less than a day. Abathur had made frequent use of it, and would likely continue to as necessary.

Of course, you still had to have a way to spread it, and the resources to make it viable.

**(Transition)**

Through the Queen, the Mind ordered her children to dig into the mounds of food. The ants dug through the piles in droves, entombing themselves within. The Queen herself moved around the piles, spraying each with a fine green mist. The colony all but vanished into the mounds. The rows of mounds extended throughout the entirety of the colony, filling the caverns to the brim. All of the ants, all of the food, just sitting in wait as the Queen wandered, and the Mind watched.

**(Transition)**

Abathur was in charms when the preparations completed, right as the class was wrapping up. Despite his eagerness to begin, Abathur waited. After all, History of Magic was next, and nobody would notice there if Abathur had abandoned attention by his body. At least, they wouldn't think about it.

It took barely a few minutes to reach the classroom, even if it felt far longer. Abathur watched the ghost in the front carefully as he walked to the back of the room. It had never expressed interest before, but it was still a thing of thought without body, without essence. An unknown variable to the extreme, and potentially very dangerous. When another thorough inspection revealed had confirmed its inattention, Abathur sat down and put his head on the desk. He closed his eyes and moved his mind. His body relaxed. Abathur did not.

**(Transition)**

Before the ant colony had been a focus of activity, the epicenter of the insects activities. Now, the only thing moving through its creep covered caverns was the massive body of the Queen, moving through the pulsating structures. Previously just bits of bark and fruits, the throbbing tumorous masses dominated the tunnels. Embedded in the mounds were countless former ants, each encased in a translucent, green tinted cocoon, each containing half finished, twisted flesh. The Mind lurked over the mounds, observing, altering, shaping the strands and sequences within. Already its work was evident. Through the murky liquid, the Queen could see sharp, elongated jaws, legs varying from two to twenty, bodies filled with liquid, sharp spikes jutting from thoraxes. It gave the impression of some mad scientist's lab. No two were quite the same, traits seemingly randomly grafted onto each, yet there was an impression of convergence, of all the creatures moving towards a common goal. For now, the creatures stayed still, inert within their cocoons. But here and there, a limb twitched.

**(Transition)**

Despite all signs pointing to simple sleep, Abathur was deep at work. The ants within each cocoon were being molded, their essence very versatile. Abathur was experimenting with each and every specimen, determining the most efficient result. It wouldn't take too long before he was ready to unleash them once again, the creatures were nearly complete. Even as the ghost recited long gone events to a comatose audience, Abathur spun and wove the strands and sequences, looking at the insects' flesh and seeing only potential. Before, they were meagre. Abathur would make them great.

**(Transition)**

All throughout the hive, there was a sudden rush of activity. Cracks were forming throughout the cocoons, claws and jaws snapping at their prison. First one, then two, then dozens at a time emerged, scrabbling over each other, finding their places in the tunnels. Each was a monstrosity, a composition of sharp jaws and rigid carapace bearing little resemblance to the ants they were made from. The hive mind grew and spread, connecting and binding each. If the Queen had had lips, it would have smiled. The Mind watched, impassive, but even it had a taste of exhilaration in its thoughts. When the last cocoon broke, and the last newborn Zerg emerged, the last piece snapped into place. The ant colony was dead. Now, only the Hive, ready to spread and change, was left.

**(Transition)**

**Lurker: A specialized creature, Lurkers are powerful subterranean attackers that can easily turn the tide of battle. Morphed from hydralisks with the assistance of the lurker den, lurkers are unique both in that they can burrow without research, and can only attack when burrowed, shooting a long line of spines that do massive area damage. It is one of very few creatures able to attack underground, the only others being banelings, swarm hosts, and infestors. Lurkers are used somewhat like the zerg equivalent of siege tanks, setting themselves in defensive positions, or slowly pushing them forward by burrowing and unburrowing repeatedly. When in the right position, lurkers can decimate armies of lighter units in an instant, or do heavy damage to the more durable ones. Due to the long time it can take to get Lurkers on the battlefield, they aren't commonly deployed, but when they are, victory is almost assured.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There is as much actual science here as there is in comic books. The superhero ones. Also, don't own it.
> 
> To clarify, the zerg ants are about the same size as real life insects. Conservation of mass and all that. 
> 
> **(This is a transition. To the actual chapter.)**

The game played in the tunnels had intrigued Abathur. The various units, moving and attacking in specific patterns, as well as the strategies that had been used, all seemed to combine into an interesting game. After some quick questions, he had learned its name to be "chess", and that Ron was apparently quite good at it. Abathur had sought him out, requesting a match between the two of them. And so, the two of the, had set up in the Great Hall, Ron with black, Abathur with white, the pieces set up in neat rows. It promised to be an intriguing match. Ron was experienced in the game, in the tricks and traps inherent in the rules. He had played this game many times before. But Abathur was a commander of the zerg, controller of a thousand real life battles, often with forces that he had himself created. He was an expert tactician, with centuries of experience.

Naturally, that meant the rules of chess were completely absurd to him.

"No you can't make more pieces! What you have is what you're stuck with!"

"Illogical. Inability to reinforce, resultant in definite loss. Mutual destruction, or death for victor at next battle. If ability to reproduce, non-existent, species is doomed. Long term survival, impossible"

"Well, you just can't okay? Can we play now?" Ron asked, frustrated by the conversation. Relenting, Abathur made the first move, a pawn forward by two. Ron followed suit, and the game commenced. So it continued for several rounds, until Ron once again noted a problem.

"You can't just move the knight forward, you have to make it go another space to the left or right," he objected.

"Incorrect. Pieces, bishop, rook, queen, have shown ability to stop movement along path. Must also be ability for knight. Trait common to all forces," Abathur shot back. The knight itself looked back and forth between them in confusion, moving uncertainty between one tile, and another to its left.

Ron seemed about to burst into another argument, but then opened his eyes wide, before sitting back with a smug look. "I see what you're trying to do here. Well, you aren't going to make me angry for this. I'm onto you, Abathur."

"Not intention. More efficient methods to cause anger. Could mention sister reproducing for greater potency. Less effort, more effective," said Abathur dismissively.

Ron gaped at Abathur, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly for a second, before returning his attention to the board and calling out his next move. He didn't notice that the knight remained in the same position.

The battle between white and black continued. Ron was experienced, executing numerous strategies, clearly well practiced and well done. Abathur was in no way laying done to die, deploying numerous defenses, and several well placed, unique, offenses, ceasing any possibility of direct assault. Unfortunately, Abathur was used to much greater resources, and the ability to reinforce them, a quirk that resulted in a tendency to lose pieces much more liberally than Ron. In a war of attrition, Abathur was clearly losing, and it wasn't too long before Ron had cornered the king.

"Checkmate. That's game, mate," Ron said.

"Clarification required. Is term 'checkmate' or 'gamemate'?" Abathur asked.

Ron blinked. "Its checkmate. You lose."

"Forces, still on field. Elimination of enemy forces remains possibility. Game, not over," Abathur refuted.

"Yeah, but you lost your king. So your forces don't have a leader."

"Can create new ruler," Abathur stated. He picked up the king's blade, and handed it to the queen, who appeared happy with her new weapon, placing both blades in readiness. "Queen, superior ruler, greater combat ability, demise less likely. Can reform forces, eliminate opposition. Will be greatest ruler."

Ron wasn't really sure what to make of this.

**(Transition)**

There was something in the walls. Abathur could feel it, he could hear it, the whispering, slithering slide of flesh on stone. He could feel its mind, old and primitive, but hungry, bound to something else. Most importantly, he could sense its essence, powerful, unique, and plentiful. He wanted it. He wanted to consume it, to take its flesh, splinter its bones. Granted, that would be a lot easier, if there apparently wasn't several feet of stone between them protected by Overmind knows what magic, not to mention still being stone, which is hard to break. Well, hard to break without drones, roaches, nydus, ultralisks, or other creatures, but still hard. With the direct approach infeasible, Abathur was forced to resort to simply following the essence around the Hogwarts corridors, often having to run to keep up.

It wasn't long before Abathur ran into Harry. Both of them looked at the other in surprise, before Harry asked in a startled tone, "Did you hear that?"

"Unsure of subject," Abathur replied, scanning the walls for any hint of his creature.

"The voice in the wall!" It was talking about how it was hungry, and going to kill!" Harry practically shouted.

Abathur's eyes snapped to Harry. The only organisms in the area were Abathur, Harry, and the creature Abathur had been stalking. It hadn't been making any sound loud enough to be distinguishable to terrans from background noise, and it certainly hadn't been talking. A cursory look at Harry's essence didn't show anything particularly special, aside from the markers Abathur had come to associate with psionics. It could be telepathy, put something told Abathur that there was now another thing to keep an eye on.

Harry and Abathur were immediately joined by the other terrans, which immediately rushed forward into the corridor, met with a paralyzed feline. While his camouflage was transfixed by the writing on the wall, Abathur was examining the cat. Paralyzed, practically in hibernation, no normal functions, it wasn't quite like anything else Abathur had seen before. The closest analogy would be that of the Arbiter, but even that wasn't quite right. It was almost as if the cat was more stone than flesh.

At this stage, most humans would have felt fear, apprehension, uncertainty. Abathur only felt glee.

**(Transition)**

For the ant colony, there was no warning, nor did they expect one. Competition was a fact of life among their species, and if another colony desired their territory and resources, any battle would be a surprise. There would be no quarter, no mercy. It would be a fight to the death. So when the strangers smelling of another colony attacked their supply route, each ant instantly retaliated, biting at their opponents. Jaws were thrust between the foes, madly biting at their legs and necks. It seemed a standard conflict, until the foes struck back.

Their jaws ripped through the defending line as if they were all but nonexistent. One of the attackers was blocked by the defenders jaw, but bit through it and the head behind, killing the ant instantly. Their armor deflected the mandibles striking at them. The few ants that managed to try, quickly had their surprise taken advantage of, with jaws and claws slashing through the exposed flesh.

The battle, if it could be called that was over in minutes. The supply line was decimated, with the spoils of war taken by the zerg hive. The few remainders of the ants limped home with devastating wounds. Unnoticed, an ant with far less wounds with its fellows, seemingly identical, crawled back to the colony, carrying an unseen infiltrator. Within minutes, the spy found its way to the queen, taking a quick nip. Within hours, the queen was remade with the pain that gave strength. Within days, the Hive doubled in size. It would not be the last time this strategy was used.

**(Transition)**

**Swarm Host: The swarm host is a creature with varied roles, many of which have changed with the creature itself. At its core, the swarm host is a creature with no weapons of its own, instead spawning locusts, small, high damaging ranged units, to attack on its behalf. The locusts themselves vary, some flying, some ground units, some transitioning from one to the other. Because of the variance in locust types, the role of the swarm host has varied, sometimes acting as semi static defense, sometimes as a powerful harasser, other times as the main weapon in a war of attrition. Swarm hosts can also spawn their locusts while burrowed, a useful ability in the defensive role. While the use of swarm hosts has varied, none can deny that they are a very effective tool in the right hands.**


	14. Study and Slaughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Science? This. Is. A Fanfic! Actually, the strategy the Hive uses in this is based on real life activities of desert ants. Thanks BBC. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(I'm kinda done with these jokes. I may very well transition to something else.)**

"Intentions unclear. Reformation of aesthetics, difficult, unnecessary. Chances of success, minimal, outcome requires many outside forces. Recommend alternate approach."

"Abathur, we have to! Malfoy won't just admit to being the Heir, so we have to trick him into it. And that the only way to do that is Polyjuice," said Harry, the biggest pusher of the plan. "It's not like he'll just give himself up."

"Have not attempted that. Suggest direct confrontation. If admittance occurs, can act. If not, nothing lost. Optimal strategy," Humans placed such weight on evidence, on knowing for certain. It was so much easier to simply eliminate the probable issue, then just check if it changed the results, but if the terrans demanded this, so be it. They could deal with the consequences.

"He's not just going to tell us in front of the whole Great Hall," Hermione protested.

"Has not been tested," Abathur responded, idly watching a spider run across the wall. He hadn't seen as many of those recently, which was a shame. They were one of his favorite creatures on the planet, an efficient predator with excellent essence. And they had a nice crunch.

"Hey wait, couldn't you go in and ask Malfoy? You're both in Slytherin," Ron recalled.

"Avoidance preferred. Organism Malfoy irritating. Interaction impossible," Abathur dismissed. The terran really was annoying, attempting to play verbal power games in literally any conversation. It was as if terran society really was ran without any psionic interaction, which would explain the instability. Not to mention that he hadn't really been in the dorms much, preferring to wander the corridors, sleep no longer being strictly necessary. He doubted even the other Slytherins associated him with their house at this point.

"Look, if you don't have a better idea Abathur, we still have to do this. We need to stop Mal- I mean the Heir!" Harry exclaimed.

"If only option, acceptable risk," Abathur capitulated. Even if it didn't work, he could always consume what was left.

**(Transition)**

Terran psionics, on a fundamental level, made absolutely no sense, somehow insanely limited and insanely powerful at the same time. Capable of incredibly precise work on a massive scale, yet struggling to perform the simplest tasks, such as communication. It was a contradiction especially notable in Transfiguration, where Abathur currently found himself attempting to turn a rabbit into a pair of slippers. Why the terrans thought this was a skill he ever needed to know, he was unsure. While there were certainly reasons to not want rabbits nearby, such as their excessive waste production, it was much more efficient to consume them. The energy required to arrange the molecules and particles just so on this scale was immense.

Yet it happened. All around the classroom, with but a flick of a flimsy stick and some random vibrations, rabbits became slippers, or at least something slipper shaped, as well as a few red smears in some unfortunate cases. What's more, it was being done by terran adolescents, something that every fiber of their essence showed to be impossible; they simply didn't have the brainpower for it. Abathur could have done it as a full zerg, reshaping bits of strands from light years away, then letting the other mechanisms carry out the change, or creating essence, and feeding it energy to make a symbiote. The Queen of Blades both old and new could do it as well, on a lesser scale since Abathur had designed her for combat and control. But these terrans did it so easily.

What's more, Abathur could do it too, with a wand in his hand. Waving it around and saying the right words while providing minimal energy to the wand produced the same effects. That had to be the key. But how did a mere contraption of wood and silk do it? Questions to the staff about how the wand worked had resulted in confusion, hand-waving, and one trip to the library to check out a book on human puberty, the last of which was actually useful. It was literally a text describing exactly what he needed to alter to keep his cover. But it lead him no closer to the answers he sought. It didn't matter. Abathur had years to work, and sooner or later, he would have their secrets. One way or another.

**(Transition)**

A successful colony inevitably attracts enemies, and with the constant expansion and infestation of new colonies, successful was definitely a description applicable to the Hive, now hundreds of times its former size. So it was not a surprise when a colony on one of the fringes of the Hive's borders sent out a massive invading force, attempting to push into the newly conquered areas. This far from the Queens and the major concentrations of the Hive's forces, a one on one combat situation was unfeasible. Should the invading force be able to get into the colony there, they could push in far too deep to be permissible. Fortunately, they never got so much as ten feet in.

Between the invaders territory and the Hives lay a thin clearing, with little more than dirt and the occasional bush to separate the areas. It was through her the invaders marched, a vast swarm of ants. There appeared to be nothing to oppose them. That is, until the leading ant fell into a small cone shaped hole, little more than 5 inches deep or wide, a simple obstacle to move through. The ant turned to climb the walls, continuing on its march. To its dismay the soil was fine and loosely packed. The ant looked for another way out.

Then the larva struck. Burrowed beneath the soil at the center of the pit, a Hive larva, little more than venom laced jaws and muscles with a digestive system, bit at the ant's central section, crippling its movement. Across the clearing, similar scenes were happening, with ants falling into pits, only to be bitten and filled with venom, then consumed by the larva. Any attempt to retaliate was met by the larva burying itself, only to emerge and attack from a different angle. A few, more intelligent ants tried to escape, but the larva twisted and flailed, throwing dirt at the escapees, causing the soil under their feet to slide back, pulling them into the grubs waiting jaws. The few who managed to navigate through the field of death were met by roaming squads of Hive soldiers, who made quick work of the isolated invaders.

Some ants still managed to get out of the pit, by a dangling root, a well placed corpse, or by sheer luck. Many of those just fell into another hole to be quickly consumed, but others managed to regroup on their side of the meadow to head back to the colony, and to safety. Or so they thought. Within many of them, those who had suffered as little as a scratch, a virus by now very familiar with its hosts replicated and spread, ready to assimilate yet another colony to the Hive.

**(Transition)**

**Spore/Spine Crawlers: The primary defensive structures of the Zerg, spore and spine crawlers are powerful and adaptable structures. The crawlers each defend hive clusters from specific threats, spore crawlers attacking air units by flinging corrosive spores, while spine crawlers attack ground forces with a single massive impaler tentacle. Both are morphed from drones, making them not as efficient to mass produce as their counterparts in the protoss and terran forces, but the crawlers make up for this by being much more powerful than photon cannons or missile turrets, as well as being able to uproot and move themselves to new positions at will. This ability has been used to allow the zerg to produce them elsewhere, and stack them up to eliminate otherwise superior forces. Spore crawlers also provide detection, enabling them to take out the likes of banshees or observers as well as other aircraft, as well as providing static detection. Both crawlers are an essential part of any hive cluster.**


	15. Itsy-Bitsy Spiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: So little science here. So little. The solar eclipse was cool though. Also, don't own it.
> 
> Fun fact: Abathur's design was originally much more spider like. It involved him weaving webs of essence, manipulating it as literal strands. The developer said he wanted something "Spidery and spindly".
> 
> **(This is a really redundant message considering the transitions are literally just the word transition in bold and in parentheses.)**

"'Follow the spiders', he said. Why would we want to go anywhere near spiders? I vote we head back right now, ok?" Ron trailed off on his rant, watching the trees around him nervously. The trees were growing increasingly covered with webs, and Abathur almost thought he saw numerous eyes peering through the gaps.

"Do you have a better idea, Ron?" Harry asked. "I trust Hagrid. If he told us to do this, there must be a reason."

Abathur wasn't as certain of the hybrids knowledge, nor did he care. He was too focused on the threads on the trees. As they passed one, he rubbed his hand against it, attempting to pull a sample of the substance off the bark. Instead his hand got stuck in it. Abathur frowned, repeatedly pulling on the web to no effect. Eventually, the bark gave before the thread, ripping a section off the tree trunk. Abathur started production of corrosive substances on his skin at the affected area, before turning again to follow Harry and Ron. He could get a sample later.

"All I'm saying is, we've followed the spiders to a creepy woods, and maybe the lesson Hagrid wanted us to learn is to stay out of the woods. Abathur, back me up here," Ron turned to him in an agitated state, clearly in distress

"Investigation not complete. More information to gain. Retreat, inadvisable," Abathur replied, still watching the space between the trees. There was something there, and Abathur wasn't quite sure what.

Ron looked between the two, seeing he was outnumbered. "Alright," Ron said, shoulders slumping momentarily. "But the second we find something, we're heading straight-,"

The trees fell away at the last few steps, revealing webs covering every surface. Thousands of eyes in groups of eight locked onto the human children that had dared enter their colony. A thousand mandibles clicked in hunger, as the acromantulas lowered themselves on their webs.

"Hagrid?" A wizened voice asked. "Is that you?"

"We're friends of Hagrid's," Harry replied.

"Well, that's interesting," The voice said. The web in front of the trio distorted and stretched. "Hagrid hasn't sent manlings to our hollow before." A number of legs stretched out from the tangle of webs, pulling a massive hairy body behind it. It was a spider. A giant spider.

It was all Abathur could do to stop himself from grinning maniacally. A colony of excellent predators, large enough to be a threat to any creature, easy to convert, in close proximity. It was as near perfect as was possible. Assuming his survival of course. Even as the terrans and the spider talked, the other arachnids moved to surround them.

Abathur could recognize the tactic. Distract the prey with tasty bait, while removing all hope of escape. The food never saw it coming, not when the Hive did the same, nor when the Swarm. Even terrans and protoss fell to the tactic more often than not. The trap would be sprung soon.

"Harry. Ron. Recommend leaving. Now," Abathur stated. If he came into the woods with them, and left without, that would cause all sorts of questions.

"Oh, you can't leave now," The elder arachnid stated. "I may not let my children have Hagrid, but I can hardly stop them when such fresh meat comes to us."

The acromantula took this as a signal to strike. Hesitantly at first, they advanced. Then the first jumped directly at Abathur, fangs poised to bite deep. Abathur just managed to catch the fangs before they reached his head, and even then would have been impaled if he hadn't telekinetically held it back. He could feel it pushing against him, and it was winning. The spider was strong, more so than it should be for regular muscle. Abathur redirected the spider, sending it flying past to his right. Harry and Ron faced similar challenges. Harry managed to knock one aside with his pack, while Ron simply ran while pushing aside the spiders.

Still, it was obvious they would be overrun before long. There were simply too many, and the acromantulas had greater mobility. Well, by all rights he should have been dead years ago. The Hive would live on, and so would the Swarm, wherever it was. Abathur was expendable. The zerg would survive.

Abathur continued fighting off the acromantulas as best he could, distracting them onto the terrans whenever he could. Occasionally, he crushed a brain, or split an artery, killing the victim. But it was never enough Escape was getting closer and closer, but Abathur knew they would be overrun far before that. Or they would have been, if not for the hovering terran vehicle.

Abathur didn't know where the vehicle came from, and he didn't care. It provided escape, and that was enough. As he looked back through the forest of trees, Abathur felt the minds of the acromantula horde fading. They had almost succeeded in killing him. That alone proved their efficiency. They would be part of the Swarm. Their essence was his. The acromantulas simply didn't know it yet.

**(Transition)**

Abathur had learned his lesson from the previous year. Never go on a random adventure head-first, especially when you had no idea why it was occurring, who was involved, or why he should care about any of it in the first place. It worked when you had a massive army of extremely well-designed, highly efficient, combat organisms, not so much when you didn't. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't reap the rewards anyway.

So, when the humans were seeking him in a panic, seeking aid for rescuing another from a basilisk, Abathur hid. He hid from them, and then, when they abandoned the pursuit, he followed them to the waste facility, watched as they opened the passage. When they and the... even after a year, he wasn't really sure what role the adult blond terran served. Maybe he served as an emergency food source? He appeared to serve no other significant function. The terrans didn't typically act as cannibals, but they may make an exception in his case.

Regardless, Abathur entered the tunnel after the terrans. He would let them rescue their sister, and slay the creature, or die in the process. Either way would leave essence for him, either from the dead terrans, with their psionics, or the basilisk. Either would work, and he could always get the other later, whatever the outcome. Both would likely have many uses.

He was a passive observer for the events of the chamber, hidden from the rest. The adult terran was reduced to a gibbering mess, presumably for easier consumption. Ron and Harry moved in farther, shadowed by Abathur. He watched as they confronted the psionic construct. Abathur was glad to note that his suspicions had been warranted, it appeared ghosts were actually capable of harm. He watched as the basilisk appeared, long and scaly, overflowing with essence. Elder creatures were always best for essence, they had so much more variety, not to mention their age was proof of survivability.

As the ignited avian flew through the air and struck at its foes eyes, Abathur watched. As the snake was slain with steel, and the ghost was slain with venom, Abathur watched. When the fire bird carried the living away, Abathur stopped watching. He acted. After waiting a few minutes to confirm that they were gone, Abathur walked to the Basilisk. Dead, of course. Perhaps having it alive was a bit too much to ask for.

Abathur started with the scales. Working his way into the sword wound at the top of the head, he dug his nails under the skin, peeling it off. The scales were disassembled, one after the other popped into Abathurs mouth. The armor was promising, providing far more protection than the meagre troll skin. Psionic dispersion as well, powerful trait. He would have to integrate it as soon as convenient.

Next came the muscles exposed beneath the skin. They were strong, as was required by the creatures shape, but otherwise nothing special. They tore easily under his fingers. Little time was spent there before he moved lower, to the mouth.

The fangs were the first feature to meet his inspections. They broke off easily enough, but the bone and the connecting tissue wasn't what Abathur was interested in. With a flex of muscle and mind, the fang cracked open lengthwise. Inside,some venom remained within, but no means of production. Abathur wasn't willing to taste such a powerful venom, not with a mostly terran shell he was reliant on.

He extended his fingers, growing the unremarkable carapace adorning them into longer, more effective claws. He slashed along the jawline of the serpent, exposing the large glands connecting to the remaining teeth. They were methodically dissected, each part consumed in turn. When he was done, Abathur immediately set his glands held within his forearms to reproduce the toxin. It was highly corrosive and highly toxic, an ideal mixture with few remedies. He would have to keep it, even if there were a few areas to improve on.

Next, came the eyes. They were ruined, damaged beyond use, if not beyond repair. He could revive the basilisk, but that would take too much time, too many resources and raise too many questions. Better to harvest its essence for use at a later date. He plucked one scarred eye out of the skull and closed his teeth around it. He had to stop mid-chew. It was glorious, everything he could have hoped for. Structures for generating psionics, structures for focusing, redirecting, emitting it, and all of the essence wrapped up in one, single sphere. It was far beyond his means of replicating at this point. He'd need generations of experimentation to get anywhere near a workable replica, and the creatures of the Hive were far too simple for it. Besides that, some sections remained incomprehensible, one appeared to just be a conduit twisted into random shapes. The basilisk's eye was powerful, immensely so, but not immediately.

Abathur took the second eye and swallowing it whole, preserving it within himself. It was never a bad thing to save a sample for later. A quick scan of the corpse showed nothing else particularly interesting. He went back to the tunnel, climbing back in and pulling himself up the length. The harpoons made convenient leverage on the particularly slippery or steep sections. Within a few minutes, Abathur was out of the tunnel, with more essence and more ideas.

**(Transition)**

The Hive had largely been left to fend for itself, after the Mind had grown the first Queen, and infested the first colony. They had adapted, grown, expanded and infested according to the orders of the Queens, the Hive built, breed and died according to their desires. This time was different.

The Mind delivered its orders directly to the forces here, altering and improving them as they moved through the night to the objective. The hive ants moved up the tree trunk, swarming over the bark, nearly covering it. The Mind was taking no chances, despite the relative ease of this operation.

There was hunger in the Mind, and it leaked into its forces. Many creatures between them and the target were devoured, a stray beetle being stripped of legs, and left immobile to bring back to the colonies later. A distracted fly was stripped of wings and flesh, and still the Hive advanced. Eventually, they reached the target, a brown spider hanging on a web of its own design, suspended in midair, far from the Hive's reach. A simple obstacle to overcome. If the spider would not come to them on its own, they would force it to.

The soldiers formed chains of themselves around the web, clinging to each others legs and jaws to stretch to various points on the web. The chains of ants reached the anchor points of the web, each end of the chain linking to the bark or a spoke of the web. As one, the Hive severed the web from the tree. The spider was suspended by the ants, who moved their structures around, encircling the spider in its own trap. The spider panicked, desperately trying to escape the strands wrapping around it. It was a futile effort. Even if it had escaped, it had nowhere to go but to the Hive. The immobilized arachnid moved closer and closer to the swarm clustered at the base of the chains.

The spider was pulled to the bark, and the ants swarmed over it. The spider lashed out, its mandibles catching an unlucky insects head, pushing venom into its brain. The ant fell, and the spider looked for another victim. It didn't take much effort. The Hive forces were covering the spider, biting into its joints and body, anchoring themselves as their paralytic venom rushed into the spider. The spider fought valiantly, taking down another Hive soldier before the venom took effect. One moment it was moving, thrashing against its attackers, the next, it fell still. Not dead, but still. The ants moved in to devour the prey, but stopped as an almost palpable mental pulse fell over, keeping them from moving in.

Calmer, a harvester moved to each of the spiders limbs, grabbing and lifting the arachnid. More moved under the body, getting additional holds and supports. The warriors encircled the harvesters, providing an escort as the Hive moved back down the trunk, stopping here and there to pick up the food. The nearest colony was not far, and it took barely an hour to deliver the payload to the resident Queen. Behind her eyes, the Mind watched the spider as the Queen burrowed it in a pile of biomass, and sprayed a green mist.

In a few hours, the new Queen awoke, walking out of the cocoon on eight legs. The Mind felt it, the fangs filled with venom, the abdomen swelling with various fluids ready to ensnare, its brain full of patterns and designs. It sent the genome to the various colonies with instructions for more and more. Soon the Spider Queens were everywhere, spinning and weaving, growing, breeding, covering the forest with their webs. The Hive had grown by one strain, and it was already hungry for more.

**(Transition)**

The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout

Down came the ants and chased the spider out

Out came the Mind and stopped all of the pain

And now that little spider serves the Hive's eternal reign

**Spiders: Equally dynamic as ants, spiders are typically solitary predators that catch prey with the use of webs, venom, and ambushes, with a variety of structures and tactics. The typical strategy of most spiders is to weave a nearly invisible web of extraordinarily strong material, in some cases ten times as strong as Kevlar, which are covered with droplets of stretchy, electrically charged materials, then lie in wait on it. When a small insect or bird flies too close, the web springs to it, trapping it, and sending vibrations through the thread to alert the spider, which rushes to the disturbance and wraps the victim in additional thread. Once the prey is trapped, the spider injects venom into the prey, liquefying it, and slurping it up. In some cases, the spider simply leaves the prey/soup in the impromptu cocoon, saving it for later. While this is the basic strategy, the details can vary. Sometimes the webs span across a river. Some spiders live in giant communities, their webs covering entire trees. Sometimes the web lasts for years. One kind of spider even weaves the web underwater, capturing air and fish it uses to live. Others forgo webs altogether, instead directly leaping around 40 times their body length onto their prey and injecting venom. Spiders are diverse, inventive, deadly, and never more than ten feet away. Have fun sleeping tonight.**


	16. Cloak and Dagger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Oh, the inestimable lack of science. How I mourn thee. Also, don't own it.
> 
> Years 1 and 2 were relatively bereft of story. Most of the scenes were oneshots, mostly fun to write, and I hope fun to read, but only for so long, and eventually, they got worse. It was a mirror of canon with the occasional bit of chess. The plot ran low of points and the scenes ran low of ideas. Now, comes this year. This is the year where there's the plot moves. This is where things get fun.
> 
> **(Says it's going to get fun, starts with a played out transition joke)**

Abathur had long suspected that terrans were idiots. They fought amongst themselves, never seeking to improve, to move forward, always obsessed with their personal goals. Perhaps the last one was understandable, Abathur was equally guilty of it, but the rest were weaknesses that none of them sought to correct. This was especially evident in conversation, where each participant tried to steer the conversation into a different topic, making a simple exchange of information into a verbal tug of war.

The rest of the earlier train ride had been monotonous, talking with the camouflage. Small talk was as dull as ever, most of it revolving around this or that over the summer. Abathur wasn't really able to participate in this. After all, it would not be good for his cover to say he had spent the vast majority of the summer in a cocoon modifying and improving both his body and a giant semi-sentient colony of ants, while driving the latter to conquer vast tracts of the island.

Fortunately, it was easy to stay out of the conversation, especially when it shifted to some human called Sirius Black. Apparently the best these terrans could do for damage was less than a single baneling, and that was impressive. And when said impressive terran escaped from prison, it was the only topic of discussion after it was mentioned. For 2 hours. Abathur made occasional comments for appearances sake, but it was dull.

The compartment had settled into silence after the sweets cart had come through, broken only by the gnashing of teeth, and the occasional snore of the adult human with slightly odd essence. Abathur had picked up a couple of loose hairs from him earlier, but had otherwise ignored him, and he seemed perfectly happy to return the favor. Largely because he was unconscious. Abathur was largely left to his own devices.

He took the time to make minor modifications. The terrans had changed over the years, and Abathur was no longer on the same route of growth as them. Aesthetics had to be changed, small chemical changes were required, proper hair growth was mandatory. While he was changing, he might as well increase his insulation. The small coach was quickly becoming quite cold.

Suddenly, the train came to an abrupt halt, jerking forward before falling back to a complete stop. The terrans grew alarmed, yelling out their confusion and speculation. The train rocked once more, as if something large was going onto it. Frost spread across the window as the temperature dropped yet more.

A large being appeared in front of the compartment door, clothed in a black hood. It twisted a long, bony hand, and the door moved aside. Abathur prepared for combat, starting claw growth and pumping venom to his palm. The terrans made similar actions, although those mostly consisted of flinching back. For a moment, the world seemed frozen.

Then the creature struck. Not with claws or teeth or toxins, but into his mind. It pulled visions from Abathur's head, pulled him into them, made it real.

_"-watched as Kerrigan's mutalisks shot at the primal zerg, forcing their way through to the quillgor. Abathur spared a moment to glance through an overlords eyes at the corpses left behind; the primals did have some interesting sequences. A single glance turned into a long stare, which turned into rage. Even with the glaive wurm burning through much of the primals corpses, Abathur could see his own work, replicated and corrupted by the thieving, unacceptable-"_

" _-missiles pounded against the leviathans flesh. Abathur had designed the armor, the structure. The terran bullets were well adapted to it, to penetrate through the layers of carapace. Abathur knew exactly how long until those missiles stopped hitting armor, and started hitting him."_

" _-spiders chasing, mandibles snapping. However many Abathur killed, more kept coming. Eventually, they would catch him, and that would be the end. Dying on a terran's behalf. How irritating."_

The scenes ran through Abathur's mind again and again, to the point where anything outside his own head was nothing more than a dark smear. An endless loop of misery, until a bright silver light shone through his thoughts. Then the images faded, his eyes began receiving input again. He saw the previously sleeping terran holding the cloaked figure at bay as a shield of solid silver energy blocked it off from the carriages occupants. The shield pushed forward, and the creature eventually left the train coach.

The human relaxed, and turned to face the students. He started to hand out small, plastic wrapped rectangles. "Chocolate," he explained. "It helps after a Dementor attack."

Abathur took the package and devoured it. Chocolate. Sugar, fats, lecithin, theobromine, caffeine. Simple, easy to replicate. Abathur would be prepared next time.

"More," he demanded. The human wordlessly handed another over. Abathur made sure to scrape the terran's hand a bit, gathering loose skin. No sense in wasting an opportunity for essence gathering.

After he had devoured the second bar of chocolate, along with the new essence. It was more interesting than he had originally thought, he would have to pay serious attention to it later. But there were more important things to know now.

"Hostile organism. Identify. Explain presence," Abathur demanded.

The human looked taken aback for a second. Abathur wondered if he'd gone too far, but the terran just took it in stride, and moved to speak. "That was a Dementor, a guard of the Prison Azkaban. They feed on misery, and people with really bad experiences can have bad reactions to them. That's probably what happened to you. And Mr. Potter here."

Abathur looked over and saw that Harry was also looking pale, and shivering in his seat. Not particularly important. Not nearly as important as that creature. It had attacked him. Abathur didn't know what it did with its prey, although now that he had the name, he could research it himself. Were it not for the intervention of the human, it would have succeeded in whatever it was attempting to do. This was absolutely unacceptable. Improvement was necessary. He knew of the chocolate now; that would help in this specific instance. But there were other creatures that could have killed him. The acromantulas, likely the basilisk if he had faced it head on, and now this.

Dehaka was a primal zerg, an unacceptable being. Abathur would turn them all to ash if he could. But here, he had a point. He had said Abathur was an evolution master, disinterested in evolution. For all that the primal was unfit for existence, he had a point. Abathur no longer had a swarm to command, no longer had an army to surround himself with. He would have to increase his own modifications, make this human shell worthy of combat.

The dementor-induced flashbacks at least served as a good reminder of why he was hiding, why he was learning. The terrans would kill him, had killed him. Should they discover anything about him, should they know of his nature, they would definitely attempt to do it again. Abathur sat back with his enemies - masquerading as his companions - surrounding him, and considered the castle where he would live among them. It was by far one of the worst situations he had ever been in. An excellent time to improve, to evolve. Of course, he would need to make sure that the humans never got close to killing him, by any means necessary.

**(Transition)**

Abathur spent most of his time remaining on the train and during the beginning feast. analyzing the terrans essence. Or what he had thought was a terran. Aside from the markers Abathur had come to associate with psionic potential, there was almost a completely different set of DNA set within the strands. If he had to guess, Abathur would say it was implanted by a virus, Overmind knows there were plenty of those messing with the human genome. One virus somehow made over 500 redundant copies of itself in his own genome, one of the first things Abathur had removed from himself.

Regardless, the second strand was fairly similar to the original terran form. Extra fur and mildly different bone and cartilage placement, but otherwise identical. What was more interesting was the mechanism but which it was expressed.

Oh, most of the time, it would barely have any effect. Pathetic though the human body was, it had ways of neutralising foreign DNA, especially with how long it appeared to have been contained. It wouldn't have nullified it completely, not with strands of this complexity, but the effects would be minimal. Mere bits and pieces would slip through the cracks. The infected would perhaps have extra body hair, superior sense of smell and taste, colorblindness, maybe even additional muscle growth. Really, nothing that a baseline human couldn't have.

What was really interested about the device was the timing mechanism, and the transformative section. Attached to the secondary DNA was a timing device, basic, but effective. It was honestly quite similar to the sleep cycle, although Abathur couldn't figure out the specifics without a full organism. A lot of the primary triggers seemed to depend on exposure to specific frequencies of light. As far as Abathur could tell, it was set to trigger the other addon, a transformative sequence, a temporary override of the defenses, and a number of catalysts to transform the host into the secondary DNA set. A look at it showed why the timing was so sparse. This kind of transformation any more often would likely kill the host, preventing any spread of the infection.

Overall, the structure, and the mechanisms were interesting. But the individual components were so stupidly weaved that it could only have been the product of an idiot or natural selection. Abathur could learn from it, but much would need to be replaced. It was a good first step though, especially since it had the advantage of being subtle. The terrans would never know about the danger in their midst.

**(Transition)**

The infestation of the surrounding colonies had been going extremely well. A single agent of the Hive, once inside the opposing colony, could easily infest the queen, and through them, the Mind and the Queens changed the queen's subjects into their own. Any forces others sent against the Hive was killed with superior numbers, or weakened by traps before getting any far. It was a very efficient tactic, with minimal risk, and great reward. And the Hive had never encountered a colony that could fight it. Until now.

There was another colony, or more accurately a string of them, set on the western edge of the Hives territory. All of them were composed of the same species, so closely related as to leave no possibility of coincidence. They may not have cooperated, but they co-existed, and that alone represented a solid wall of foes to get through.

Infiltrators had been sent into their colonies, usually only managing to bite and infect a single queen before getting killed by her defenders. This is where the Hive's normal strategy broke down. For every queen that was infested, there seemed to be hundreds more  _within each colony_. The infested queen was killed before so much as another worker was infested. All attempts were stopped before they really began.

Infestation by subterfuge wasn't working, and with the size of the colony involved, there was no option of avoidance. So a new strategy was required, something more direct.

The Hive gathered their forces outside the allied colonies. It was the single largest force they had ever assembled, composed of soldiers, spiders, and even the occasional ant Queen was spread among the wall of carapace. This was to be a quick war, no option of defeat or surrender, a war of annihilation and annexation.

The transition from preparation to attack was sudden. Groups of smaller, faster ants rushed forward in arrowhead formations, overwhelming lone hunting or foraging parties with savage efficiency, eventually clearing a path to the colony entrances for the main force. The main army split up, blockading each colony entrance with an even mixture of varying forces.

Once a force was in position, it brought force a group of mutated, twisted creatures that could vaguely be called ants. Their abdomens had swelled along with their thorax, forming a narrowing cone that led to the ants head. The head itself was a tube, topped with a flap of skin, held in place by three bladed mandibles, terminating in a point. Their rears pulsed and quivered with a slight green glow. They towered over the average worker, not quite as big as the massive soldiers, but equally impressive.

Preceded by a small escort of smaller workers, the new ant strain pushed into the colony entrance. They were met with immediate resistance. A group of enemy ants met them inside immediately, locking jaws with the advancing worker escort, embroiling the forces in a stalemate. The warped ant in the back however, found this stalemate unacceptable. Its abdomen contracted as it turned to face the defenders. When it had them in its sights, it opened its jaw. A solid stream of green acid shot out. Where it hit the defenders, the spray cut into their flesh, crippling or killing them outright, allowing the smaller workers to advance further into the colony. The acid filled ant followed them, carefully avoiding the puddles of acid eating into the floor. Similar scenes repeated themselves across the length of the Hive's invasion.

Eventually, the initial narrow passageways gave way to a massive cavern, covered with ants opposed to the Hive's advance. With such a small opening, the Hive could not bring its forces to bear against the defenders, allowing them to stall the Hive at the caverns entrance. Hive workers rushed forward, only to be torn apart by a mob of defenders. Eventually, the acid spitter made its way to the front. It once again pulsed its abdomen, sending the deadly acid forward towards its jaw. This time, however, the jaw remained closed, causing the acid to build up. When it released it, the acid sprayed across the cavern, splattering every ant within it. Spread over such a large area, the acids effect was far reduced, but it was still enough to give the workers, as well as the larger soldiers reinforcing them, an edge to push into the cavern, and eliminate the stalemate.

The Hive marched on through the tunnels. Any organized resistance was met with acid and mandibles, until the invaders reached the queens. They were huddled together in a chamber, blocked off from the rest of the colony by a wall of mud and dirt. Again, the spitter's abdomen clenched, this time spraying a steady, if somewhat weaker stream of acid in a grid along the barrier. Workers rushed in and pulled out the partially dissolved barrier, then rushed at the exposed queens. They were bitten through, burned by acid, beheaded, all slaughtered. This species had already proven annoyingly resistant to infection, the Hive took no chances with a resurgence. More hunting parties spread out among the tunnels, finding every hiding hole where a queen could stow away. Across hundreds of other colonies, this scene was mirrored, with enemy queens reduced to the Hive's prey, as their colonies lay in ruin.

The colonies of their foe were far from gone. Not even close to it. But, eventually, inevitably, they would vanish. The Hive would not accept any threats in its domain.

**(Transition)**

**Baneling: One of the more dangerous creatures in the Zergs arsenal, the baneling is little more than a living acid bomb, a vehicle of destruction. Morphed from zerglings, banelings are slightly slower than their predecessors, but make up for this by rolling their bodies as a form of movement. When killed, or close enough to an enemy structure, banelings detonate, spraying acid around them to annihilate anything with the misfortune to be nearby. Since banelings are relatively cheap and quick to morph, it is common to see a full flood of banelings rolling at opposing units, although their suicidal nature can make this difficult to do regularly. Banelings are especially effective against massed, lighter units, but are still damaging to heavier, armored units. Banelings can also explode while burrowed, making them effective landmines. Generally, banelings have difficulty dealing with more long range, mobile units, such as siege tanks or colossi. Still, banelings are one of the more dangerous weapons of the swarm; letting them get too close means death.**


	17. Fascination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is not a biology textbook. Whoever told you that is a liar. Probably. If they had carapace, then either you're hallucinating, or I'm an undercover zerg scientist. Which, actually, means this is still not a biology textbook. Also, don't own it
> 
> **(So apparently, there's a button in the doc editor here. This button adds horizontal lines. Which are commonly used as transitions. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME THIS.)**
> 
> _I was too busy laughing at the transition jokes. As an author, they're all too relatable._  
>  -feauxen, the newly appointed beta

"Hello, and welcome to the Study of Ancient Runes," said the terran at the front of the class, a female that had identified herself as Bathsheda Babbling. "Now, this is not a class of immediate rewards, of waving a wand and setting a feather on fire, or of lifting up a pile of wood." Titters floated around the classroom. The terran paused. "Or was it the other way around?" Now there were open giggles from around the class. Not very many, as the room was nearly deserted, only with 15 humans besides Hermione in the sizeable classroom. And Abathur, of course. Apparently psionics weren't any more inclined to learn dead languages than their inferior counterparts. This was precisely why he had chosen the class. Abathur sat silently and waited for the teacher to continue.

"Now despite my jokes, this is quite a serious class. Even a simple mistake could have far-reaching consequences. In Charms and Transfiguration, and all the other wand-based classes, you can correct errant wand motions with only the occasional counterspell. In Ancient Runes, if you get so much as a single line wrong, well, anything could happen. Sometimes nothing happens, sometimes you get a better result than you could have hoped for, and sometimes the results are quite explosive," Abathur could sympathize. He absolutely hated finding all the errors in the early versions of new strains.

The teacher continued, "The point is that a mistake is volatile, unpredictable. Attention to detail is of the utmost importance if you intend to keep those eyebrows in place." Hermione was furiously taking down notes. Abathur wasn't. He had learned these lessons long ago, albeit about a very different topic. There was no reason for him to write them down.

"This is not to say that there are no rewards for attentive students of Ancient Runes. A poor rune sequence can be disastrous. But when you get it right..." Babbling held up a moderate sized stone, with a number of lines carved into it, and tapped her wand to it. The stone lifted off her hand and lit up with a corona of light. With a low hum, it flew around the room rapidly, easily navigating around the students watching with awed expressions. It stopped for a moment in front of Abathur's face, allowing him a glance at the patterns inscribed upon it. The runes themselves were of course completely unknown. But Abathur could almost see something familiar in the patterns. He didn't get much of a chance to examine it closely before it zoomed back to outstretched palm of Babbling.

"The possibilities for this are as endless as your imagination. Runes can be combined in countless ways, if you have the right knowledge. Runes act as a set of instructions for magic, telling the very flow of power what to do and where to go..."

Babbling said more, but Abathur wasn't listening. He was too overwhelmed by what she had already said. Instructions, telling magic where to go and what to do. The human knew the essence of psionics, and was stupid enough to teach it straight to him!

**(Transition)**

One of the greatest strengths of the Hive's strategy of infestation was that it didn't need to spend any resources to defend its new territories. It was a simple task to send the new converts to patrol the forests surrounding the Hive, or to dig pits and weave webs. They had the forces to spare, and the coordination to pull it off. It was the way the Hive had always done it, which meant they had never had the challenge of guarding a new, abandoned territory. They'd never needed to grow their forces, never had to plan and map areas to lay defenses, never required specific resources for growth and defense. It was a weakness the new, incredibly numerous enemy took brutal advantage of.

Their attacks were not organized. They were not consistent, they were not even particularly strong. But they were endless. Hundreds of attacks could come for the Hive's new territory in an hour. Some attacks were crushed. The Mind had designed its forces to be deadly soldiers, far beyond their original capacities. Each was easily capable of crushing their lesser cousins, one on one. This was little help against the hordes that the super colony sent their way. Slowly but surely, the Hive was pushed back from their newly acquired territory. For every attack that was forced back or slaughtered, dozens more made their way through the Hive clusters. As quickly as the Hive had claimed the territory, they were being pushed out of it. The Queens were in disarray, each fighting desperately to preserve their colonies.

It was clear that a solution was needed. The Hive could adapt, or it could die. The Mind would not intervene; it was becoming increasingly distracted from them, remote. The Queens pooled their minds and thoughts, searching among themselves for a solution.

At that point, they realized they had already found the answer. Division was a weakness they could not afford. Their opponents outnumbered them, outpaced them in size, and that in and of itself could make up for any other advantage the Hive possessed, if their defense continued in such a poor manner. But a true merging of resources and thought, a true Hive mind, that just might stand a chance.

The Queens pulled together their thoughts, turning a discordant chorus of opinions and senses into a fine flow, ideas rushing like water. New thoughts, new concepts, previously unimaginable, seemed almost simple. Before, they had been colonies, fighting on the same side, but rarely fighting together. Now they were one. They were the Hive. And the Hive tolerated no threats to itself.

The Hive's defenses clustered together, then smoothed out along the borders, providing a solid front to ward off attacks. With this organization, the lone, chaotic attacks were deflected with ease. The previously rare Hive spiders spread and worked, covering the entirety of the front line in a layer of silk. Vibrations in the great web told the Spider Queens of all approaching foes.  
Hive soldiers were modified to walk over it freely, even moving faster on it, while super-colony troops were quickly caught in the intricate trap.

The enemy's momentum was stopped in its tracks. The massive loss of Hive territory was halted. The two sides settled into an uneasy stalemate, with only the occasional probing attack that either ended in a quick retreat, or death by acid and mandibles.

It wouldn't last. Sooner or later, the war would escalate. The battles would continue, and one side or another would fall. But for today, the Hive survived. Tomorrow it would thrive.

**(Transition)**

Remus Lupin was quickly shaping to be one of Abathur's favorite teachers. Not only was he a fairly interesting specimen in and of himself, one Abathur continued to grab samples from, but he also brought interesting specimens into his class. He wasn't like the hybrid in Care of Magical Creatures, with all his patchwork creatures. If he wanted poorly made amalgamations, he would have consumed the cerberus. The hippogriffs were just dull, and Abathur wouldn't bother describing the flobberworms, even in his own head.

Lupin, on the other hand, brought the interesting essence. Creatures taking strength directly from water, even if they were dependent on water being present in their head cavity. Creatures that emitted flames from their bodies. And now, a creature that apparently fed on literal fear. Abathur watched eagerly as the Boggart transformed into a snake covered with a large red wig and makeup, a large, floating ball of flesh, covered with muscular, headless things with stubby limbs, a swarm of books leaping out of a tree trunk while a human above laughed, and a large, worm like being that burst out of a terrans chest and quickly grew into a towering, black creature, with a spined tail and an elongated head. Abathur took notes on the last one, that might be useful.

Soon enough, Abathur had made his way to the front of the line, extremely eager to get to the Boggart. He could barely hide his anticipation, having to stifle a grin. When he stepped forward, the Boggart twisted and writhed as it had for the others. Abathur didn't expect much; it had mostly used surface scares against the humans. It shifted between a terran space marine, a protoss void ray, Abathur even swore he saw a hybrid in there, before it eventually settled on Abathur.

Not Abathur as he currently was, a yellow-green eyed terran whelp, with poorly made grasper limbs and an inefficient digestive tract the size of a larva. It was him as he was. Tall, strong of limb and mind, a compiler and modifier of strands and essence on an epic scale. Scythes mounted on tendrils, extending from his back. Zerg. If the Boggart thought this was what he was afraid of, he may have to reconsider assimilating it. This was a pathetic showing.

It was then that Abathur noticed the details. Small things, things that anyone else would not see. The tip of a scythe was malformed, dull at the edges, with minor flaws along the joint. One of the growths on the side of his head was filled with a darker fluid, dull and inert. An eye grew deformed, a spine was off-angle, bits carapace were scraped off, the list went on and on. Flaws, imperfections, simple to fix, but for some reason they were. All. Still. There.

Abathur addressed his doppelganger. "You. Possess flaws. Amend."

The clone turned to look at Abathur slowly, seemingly uncaring about the time it was wasting.  _"Why?"_ it replied, through thought rather than sound. There was a tone of apathy, of giving up, so pervasive throughout that simple reply, that could never be fully expressed verbally. It gave Abathur chills down all of his spines.

"Correct to evolve, make better. Always improving," Abathur replied.

 _"Have stopped. Will not reach goal. Attempts, inadvisable. Will not continue,"_ Abathur's doppelganger said. That stunned Abathur. He had, the doppelganger had given up. This was an impossibility. Telling himself that didn't help the tendrils of fear creeping through the back of his mind.

"Perfection, moving goal! Only goal! Cannot reach!" Abathur was shouting at this point, unwilling to accept the reality put before him. He was not, would never be this apathetic  _thing_. Perfection was the eternal goal, and the only goal worth more than a moments notice. It would never stop continuing. He would never stop pushing towards it. Right?

 _"Cannot reach, not worth pursuing. Intangible, non-existent. Pointless,"_ the Boggart replied. There was such carelessness, such lack of desire in that thought, such complete and utter sloth, that Abathur couldn't believe it was from himself. That's when he realized it wasn't.

The Boggart had managed to get into his head, manipulate him, make Abathur afraid. And for a while, it succeeded. The Boggart had made Abathur  _afraid._  This time, Abathur didn't bother to suppress his grin. Abathur addressed the Boggart, "Effective predator. Intelligent. Highly efficient."

The Boggart became rigid for a second, then staggered back. The Boggart shifted into a distorted caricature of Abathur's fear, before desperately flying back towards the cupboard. Good, it wanted to stay alive. That saved him the trouble of adding that instinct. Abathur gave his wand a jab, and said, with the grin still on his face, "Riddikulus". The Boggart became a small worm, wriggling hopelessly on the floor. Abathur strode forward and picked up the worm. With a quick crunch, he consumed the Boggart in a single bite.

**(Transition)**

**Ravager: The result of years of careful manipulation of the roach genome to points far beyond its original limits, the Ravager is a powerful force of the Zerg, specializing in cracking open entrenched positions. A towering creature of carapace and muscle, the Ravager's most distinctive feature is the pit of plasma fire sitting on the top of its body, surrounded by a crown of spines. Seen from above, the pit of biological fire could easily be mistaken for a single, burning eye. It is from here that the Ravager strikes, sending balls of plasma fire from distance to burn through enemies of the Swarm. The Ravager can also direct a more concentrated version of Corrosive Bile in an arc to burn through all in an area, from orbital craft to lowly foot soldiers, friend or foe. It is this ability that makes it so effective at attacking entrenched positions, using the Bile to strike down less mobile units such as Lurkers or Siege tanks, static defense, or Sentry force fields. The Ravager is the result of twisting and manipulating of existing strands to new purpose, a role it fills admirably and efficiently.**


	18. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There is a complete and utter lack of science below. If you couldn't tell from the magic, aliens, blatant misinterpretation of basic biology, and the psychic ants/spiders. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(You know what, screw the horizontal lines. I have a theme and I'm sticking to it. Long live the (Transition)**
> 
> _All hail the silly authorial joke! -feauxen the (less newly appointed, now) beta_

"Would you like a cup of tea, Remus?" Dumbledore asked. He was seated across from Remus in his office, after the recently hired teacher had asked for a meeting. Fawkes was resting comfortably on his perch, mostly asleep, but still keeping an eye open.

"Yes please," Remus said, taking the proffered cup. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Please, call me Albus. You're hardly a student anymore," Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, picking up his own cup. "This is a meeting between friends, Remus, not between the Headmaster and his student. Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Remus took a long sip of his tea. "What do you know about Thenabar Jaren?"

Dumbledore took a sip of his own cup before responding. "Enough to know that he very much prefers to be called Abathur. I'm quite surprised he hasn't impressed that on you already."

Remus pressed on. "Well yes, but is there anything else? Does he have some sort of odd magical ability or heritage? Does he have a... condition like mine?"

Dumbledore furrowed his brow. "No, not that I'm aware of. Why do you ask?"

Remus swallowed, not sure how to put it. "He... ate a boggart. He turned it into a worm-like thing and then  _ate_ it."

Dumbledore had moved to take a sip of his tea, but stopped as soon as he heard Remus's first few words. His arm slowly lowered the cup back onto the saucer. "Remus, I'd like you to tell me exactly what happened."

So Remus recalled the class session for the headmaster, discussing the events leading up to the eventual consumption of the Boggart. He described the Boggart as it appeared to Abathur, a large slug-like creature. He described how Abathur had ranted to the creature, about perfection, and goals. And he finished by telling Dumbledore about the maliciously victorious grin on Jaren's face as he picked up the Boggart and ate it. When he finished, Dumbledore looked pale and shaken.

After a few long seconds, Dumbledore spoke up. "How did the other students react?"

"About as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. None of them panicked, at least. I dismissed the class as soon as I could," Remus replied. "Do you have any idea why Jaren would do this? How he could do this?"

"Unfortunately, I know very little of Mr. Jaren. He was raised in a Muggle orphanage, far from the Wizarding worlds sphere of influence. I have no idea of his heritage, or any exposure to... other factors," Dumbledore said. "Right now, you likely have a greater idea of what inspired this than I do."

"So, what do we do from here?" Remus asked. "We can't just let a potential threat walk around the castle unchecked."

"That is exactly what's going to happen." Dumbledore said. "Mr. Jaren has given no indication of harming the students, quite the opposite even and I'd like to keep it that way. No need to antagonize a complete unknown."

"But-" Remus started to object.

"No, Remus," Dumbledore interrupted. "We need to keep the risks as few as possible. You will continue to monitor him, while I investigate elsewhere. Do you understand?"

Remus looked as if he wished to press the point, but eventually relented. He stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Dumbledore to his own devices. Only then did he release a sigh. Did Hogwarts truly need another danger?

**(Transition)**

On further reflection, Abathur supposed that deciding to consume a magical creature in the midst of dozens of terran witnesses wasn't the absolute best idea. He probably could have snuck in later, he could have subtly infected it, he could have done literally anything else. Yet he had chosen what was quite possibly the stupidest move Abathur had ever made, an impulsive and Primal action. And it absolutely disgusted him to be similar to the Primal Zerg. Fortunately, no one in the class had seen the true purpose behind his consumption of the boggart.

In any case, it would be counterproductive to regurgitate the boggart at this point. And he doubted he would come to fully regret this incident, even with the sloppy execution, so there was no point. Especially since the Boggart essence was little less than a work of art. Normally, Abathur would balk at calling any randomly formed essence "art," but there was no other adequate word to describe what the Boggart was. It possessed a ridiculously flexible code, comparable to the Changeling, but more stable, more regular. The catalysts alone would keep Abathur busy for years, they were absurdly efficient for a product of natural selection. Was this what happened to species regularly exposed to powerful psionics? Perhaps this meritted experimentation, exploration of different scenarios. Something for another day.

Equally interesting were the manner and subject of the boggart's perception. Small, compact, but absurdly powerful structures in the boggart allowed it to sense raw thought, emotion. Little, indefinite, chemically inspired patterns, but so, so clear when viewed with through a boggart's...eyes? Throughout all of Abathur's existence, he had encountered no term or analogue that could describe them.

Humans had been nearly a total mystery to Abathur, but now, he could feel them, he could  _know_ them. Their wants, their fears, their knowledge, their universal, desperate desire to fit in, to procreate. Even their memories were laid bare to him, when he delved deeply enough. It was almost pathetically inane, the way terrans seemed to be a mask of inscrutability, with unknowable motivations and rules, only to be controlled by their basest desires. No wonder they were all so obsessed with arbitrary rules.

Speaking of terrans, his camouflage appeared to be approaching him. Convenient timing, as he needed them now more than ever. They provided more cover from discovery, another layer of protection. Assuming he could convince them that he was rational and unremarkable, and not anything but.

"Abathur! What happened? We've been trying to find you all day, and there are rumors about you eating a Boggart!" Ron was the first to speak, and the first human that Abathur could understand. Abathur, using the sensory organs he'd appropriated from the boggart essence, could truly feel the meaning behind terran expressions now. To his disappointment, there was little to discover. Concern and confusion, both boring and pointless, evident even in the tone. And yet, so important, so prevalent within his own thoughts. Only terrans could make greater insight more confusing, those biologically pathetic beings that fought on even ground with the Swarm.

It was a long few seconds before Abathur realized he had yet to answer her question. There had been dozens of witnesses, nothing would be gained by denying it. Better to bite the hydralisk spine. "Rumors, largely accurate. Boggart consumed, dissolved."

 _That_  created a spike of emotions. Confusion and suspicion became much more prevalent among all of them, rising to the forefront, as well as a spike of... was that fear?

Yes, yes it was. How inconvenient. Fear was the next to last thing he wanted right now. But this was where the Boggart essence shined, manipulation of the human psyche. The problem also provided the solution.

"Did not desire further exposure. Did not desire for others to have further exposure. Ended possibility." Hopefully that would work. Humans gave a great deal of importance to the welfare of others in their species, for some reason. Earlier, he would have said he was hungry, but not now. Now, he knew exactly what buttons to push.

Indeed, the fear appeared to have subsided, but suspicion remained, mostly from Hermione. Abathur hadn't thought she was cunning enough for that.

"Why did you eat it then? Why couldn't you have just banished it, locked it up? Why did you decide to eat it?" Hermione demanded.

The terrans were really testing his new capabilities. Abathur reached through Hermione's mind, looking through her memories and emotions for something that would convince her. After a further second of thought, he extended tendrils of information to both Ron and Harry. His swarm essence improved mind easily handled the extra strain that would so confuse a base Boggart. To his surprise, he also felt the presence of a mind from behind the wall to his left. Exactly how far could Abathur reach?

Even as Abathur experimented, his lips and tongue formed the words that would abate the suspicions, pulling from each of the trio's experience and knowledge. "Boggart, inspires base emotions. Fear, hate, similar. Was before dinner. Hunger, fear, overwhelmed logic. Know results."

The suspicion and fear went away, replaced with acknowledgement. His camouflage moved to continue further conversation, and Abathur responded almost automatically, falling into step with them. But his more full focus was on his new senses, exploring the limits. Passing through the castle was trivial, sensing minds, if not being able to go any deeper than that. The forest was full enough of beings that Abathur could feel them, if only as a vague fog from which individuals were difficult to distinguish. It became increasingly vague from there, going from a thick fog to thin wisps of thought. Only in high concentrations was there any appreciable presence, such as the cluster of minds Abathur assumed was the village near the school.

Abathur stretched out his mind far and wide, stretching across the island, even if there was nothing but the brightest concentrations visible to him. Yet something called him to spread out even more, something almost familiar, but not quite. Abathur pulled his focus this way and that across the globe, but nothing showed itself to him, nothing significant. At last, he turned his focus outwards, and only then did he realize what he witnessed.

The many minds under one. The endless hunger, the constant flux, the single purpose split into many. It was too far, and he was too weak for anything beyond this cursory glance. But he could feel it. He could reach it. He could reunite with it, given time. He merely needed a more focused means of communication, a way to sense and respond to the distant call of his purpose, his kin.

The call of the Swarm.

**(Transition)**

Surprisingly, it was the super-colony that made the first big push after the stalemate. A massive wave of ants gathered at the southern end of the Hive's territory, representing the super-colony's most organized push to date. It left the Hive scrambling to pull their more dispersed forces together to counter the inevitable push. The Hive had an advantage there, the spider webs allowing them to rapidly re-deploy their forces.

The super-colony force was the same as it always was; a mass of practically identical ants in immense numbers; a horde covering the forest floor. In a straight, fair battle, the Hive would have little hope of survival. Fortunately, fairness wasn't a concept that either force sought to embrace. The Hive force stood on acres of strands of web, preventing the super-colony from moving too far forward without heavy losses. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be enough this time, not with the mass of carapaces moving forward. The ultimate victor was anyone's guess.

The super-colony continued forward, while the Hive lay in wait, preparing for the optimal moment to strike. They didn't have long to wait. When the super-colony laid its first step on the web, the Hive struck. Spitters spread their acid far and wide across the front lines, killing or crippling most of the ants struck by the liquid. With the super-colony bottlenecked at the edge of the webs, it was devastating. Dozens of lines of ants became puddles before the colony pushed past the border. Their fellows climbed over the bodies and continued the charge, only to be caught in the extensive strands, shaped carefully by the spiders to trap any non-Hive being foolish enough to step on it.

Little by little, the Hive's defenses wore down on the colony attackers. The bodies piled up more and more, marred by acid puddles. The seemingly endless horde thinned, cut down by the endless rain of spitter volleys and warrior fangs. Little did the Hive know that their victory here was pointless.

It was a single vibration. A chance disturbance of a thread in a greater tapestry that tipped the Hive off. The colony had been far more clever than anticipated. Spiders that were sent to investigate the disturbance found a massive force from the super-colony, several times greater than the army the Hive was already in battle with. A decoy army was what they were fighting, a front to the true force attacking from the west.

The Hive had little time to act. They had already moved their forces to fight off the decoy, and they didn't have the time or resources to grow more forces. The colony forces would push in far, regardless of the Hive's actions. So all they could do was retreat.

The Hive pulled all the resources and beings it could out of the colonies in the advancing force's path, leaving behind only small seeds of a few ants and spiders, along with a single Queen, hidden away. They stayed at the former colonies, even after the super-colony raided them, and buried any survivors beneath a mountain of ants.

These pockets had but one mission: to ensure that the super-colony force never got the opportunity to enjoy their victory. The super-colony never stayed long. When they had finished ravaging a colony, they would move on immediately. It was then that the pockets moved into action. The Hive had long since mapped the species useful for assimilation, after the Mind had introduced them to the concept. However, with the war against the super-colony, there had never been the opportunity to free up enough spare focus to actually integrate them. That was not an issue here.

A Queen, freed from the need to manage a colony, took charge of each small group. All had a specific target,which they moved to attack immediately after the super-colony had left. The species fell in countless amounts. A wasp's nest fell to the ground, severed from its branch. A scorpion bearing her young was surrounded and rushed. Infiltrators rushed into beehives, seeking out the queen. Massive, armored beetles felt a single bite at their neck before multitudes of minds invaded its own. Butterflies were shot down with focused jets of acid, burning holes into their delicate wings. Mosquito larvae were plucked from the water, given a single shot of a virus each. Praying mantises had their legs pulled out from under them, collapsing them. Countless species were pulled into the Hive's collective thoughts, their essence collected.

The Queen of each operation manipulated the essence of their new wards, shaping their strands into weapons of war, filling them with all the malice and imagination they could muster. The Hive pulled back its forces from the decimated decoy army, concentrating them at the end of the super-colonies march of death.

Eventually, the Hive's main army faced the super-colony's. The Hive had determined that this was the last point at which they could stop the march for good. The two sides faced each other, one a wild menagerie of spiders, spitters, soldiers, and workers, the other side a mass of identical warriors. There was no more room for subtlety, for planning and deliberation. On some unheard signal, the super-colony forces charged forward, intent on breaking the Hive. They didn't hesitate, moving straight into a massive web.

The Hive would make them regret that.

From their rear came an army of horrors, twisted creations, designed to kill. With no break in pace, they laid into the super-colony forces without a shred of mercy. Worms, muscular things with mouths filled with rings of teeth, burst from the ground to chew through a target, submerging before any other ant could strike at it. Scorpions, mantises, and beetles led the front lines, impaling ants upon their claws, horns and stingers, deflecting any counter attack with thick layers of armor. Mosquitoes landed upon the super colony, impaling ants with their new, tapering, needle-like legs and mouth before flying off. Their prey collapsed as small larva, already ready to kill, burst out of the holes left behind and began attacking. Bees filled the air, launching wave after wave of envenomed needles into the bodies of the opposing ants, while toxic pollen fell down with every flap of the butterflies flying high above. The aerial barrage burned through every target it touched. Incredibly small ticks scuttered between the ants legs, before climbing up and biting into their head, the neurotoxins they contained causing the affected ant to go berserk, attacking and mauling its comrades, as well as anything else nearby.

The Hive's main force took the distraction of the super-colony as an opportunity to attack. The barrage of needles and parasites was joined by acid, venom, and mandibles, cutting through the horde at a rapid pace. The super-colony army was being attacked from all sides, from the air, even from within their own ranks. Bit by bit, their ranks thinned, pressured from all directions. They had no means of shooting down the aerial attackers. They had no armor to protect themselves from the powerful scything attacks of the Hive's new additions. They had no speed to strike back at the parasites and ticks tearing them apart from within. They had no way to burrow to follow the rapid strikes of the worms. They had no way to adapt, to change themselves to be able to survive this onslaught.

The Hive tore every last ant apart. With a sizable portion of the super-colony forces eliminated, the Queens pushed back, reclaiming the colonies that had been wiped out in the armies march. The tide of battle had turned in the Hive's favor, and they intended on fully taking advantage.

**(Transition)**

**Viper: The Viper is one of the more recent and more powerful additions to the Swarm, a refinement of the now obsolete Defiler. It possesses a wide variety of abilities for shaping and manipulating the battlefield, rearranging events to the Swarms design. One of the most distinctive manner in which it does this is by abducting key targets, extending its entire digestive system out of its body to hook and pull a target towards it. This is used to pull vulnerable, long-range targets, such as siege tanks or colossi to death at the hands, claws, acid, spines, living exploding projectiles, ink sacs, etc. of the main zerg force. Accompanying this ability is the blinding cloud, a large fog of microbial soup, preventing ranged foes from firing. The viper can also launch a parasite to aerial targets, damaging it and anything nearby. All these abilities, combined with its ability to draw energy from structures, makes the viper a powerful caster, manipulative, refined, and capable of great feats in the right hands.**


	19. Shots in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Science is mixing renin and milk and getting cheese. Science is performing trial after trial after trial in hope of finding a trend. Science is consistently and repeatedly proving yourself wrong. This is not any of those things. It's still fun though. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Transitions are transpositions of remissions in all their odd submissions whose missions lack conditions.)**
> 
> _This nonsense makes sense...all it took was a rhyme scheme ~f_

 

 

Studying was by far the most boring part of pretending to be a terran. Reviewing things that had already been memorized for the sake of pretending to have a mind that hadn't already had its ability to forget removed. Even worse was that his camouflage insisted in doing it in a group, as if more human minds somehow corrected the weakness shared by all of them. And worst of all, it was done in the library, where there were yet more terrans and more flaws in memory to frustrate Abathur, and more risks to expose him. He was starting to wonder whether getting camouflage was really worth the risks.

Unfortunately, Abathur still found himself sitting at a table surrounded by books and terrans discussing topics from the inane, such as what color of robe was somehow "in," (exactly what they were in was never specified), to the blatantly pointless, like the random "rules" of psionics that Abathur knew from experience were, at best, largely inaccurate.

Eventually, Abathur couldn't take the ritualistic torture anymore, and pulled out his own, more interesting book. A text describing something called an Animagus. Abathur had been meaning to read it for years, but never seemed to have a good moment for it. Abathur eagerly cracked open the cover.

"Hey, Abathur, what's that?" Harry chose that moment to interrupt him. Absolutely great timing.

"Book. Information for Animagi. Desire to read. No interruptions," Abathur stated, somewhat aggressively.

And, of course, Hermione took that as an opportunity for discussion. He should have been less subtle. "Oh, I've heard about those! They're wizards who can turn into a certain type of animal!"

That was what they were? Mildly interesting, but only so much of the human species flaws could be corrected for with extra creatures. The process may be interesting, but not the result.

Unknowing of Abathur's disinterest, Hermione continued. "They're like werewolves, except they can transform into other things, and whenever they want. But you have to be really good at transfiguration to become one, so I'm not sure you could do it, Abathur."

Werewolves... Where had he heard of those before? Ah yes, the lesson with the Potions "master" who didn't understand basic chemistry. The semi-humans who transformed into wolves every full moon. Now that he thought about it, that sounded quite similar to the traits he collected from the competent one, Lupin. Well that was interesting, but it didn't change his inability to use the essence as it was. The transformation was still too strenuous to be sustainable. Maybe if he had some form of catalyst...

But he did. The Boggart essence, practically all of it, was devoted to transformation. It would be simple to repurpose its strands to make the transformation simpler. But transforming into a wolf-like thing would be pointless, near useless. It would be a downgrade in all but speed. If he had a way to get essence from something more useful, that would be very useful.

Abathur returned to his reading. It would still be fascinating to find out how humans who didn't even know the shape of their own essence were able to pull off such delicate transformations.

The first few pages were a pretentious introduction. The next ones were warnings, accompanied by images of the horrific accidents that were described in the text. Those ones made Abathur somewhat nostalgic. He missed making those. The pages after that were covered in prerequisites, boring things that Abathur could sidestep. After that, though, was something very interesting. The mechanism by which an Animagus determined their form. Simple potion based meditation, and nothing else, not even essence from the creature they would become.

Was it that simple? A potion to gather his essence again. More essence to hide it and yet more to make it available whenever he needed. All he needed was to make that potion, and he could be whole again. He would be a zerg once more.

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore liked to host teacher meetings within his office. It kept the professors from feeling as if being there had any negative connotations, reinforced the idea of peerage among the staff. Any space concerns could be easily solved with a few charms.

This week's staff meeting was one such occasion, and he making himself comfortable in his seat as the teachers filed in and took their seats along a table. They were all talking, enjoying each other's company, telling stories of their students to each other. Normally, this would be all the meeting consisted of, barring some particular disaster. The constant patrol of Dementors outside the grounds dampened that of course, but the overall cheer fortunately remained. Unfortunately, that cheer was not to last.

Soon enough, all the staff were seated, and the meeting began in earnest. Some minor issues with the most recent couple who had been discovered in a broom closet, discussion of the new prefects, and similar topics were thrown around. Eventually, after most of the talk had died down, Dumbledore brought up the subject that had been troubling him since it was first brought to his attention by Remus, that of Thenabar Jaren.

There was a momentary silence as the teachers contemplated the yellow-green eyed youth. Bathsheda was the first to break the spell.

"He's very dedicated to Runes, uses them with a passion I rarely see. I barely have to finish telling him the meaning of a Rune before he's figured out a dozen uses of it."

"Jaren has an excellent understanding of potions, perhaps surpassing my own." Severus's statement drew surprised looks from around the room, shock clearly written on more than a few faces. "If only he didn't have such unfortunate choice in companions, he would be such an excellent student."

"He doesn't participate much in class, but his Transfigurations are always very detailed." Minerva said. "And I remember him displaying an interest in runes; last year he was asking about how wands worked."

"He was talking about literal wands?" Filius squeaked, cheeks flushing. "I gave him a book about puberty."

And so the conversation went. All about his academic achievements, his style of writing, how he worked with others. He should have expected this, really, given how that was the only meaningful way they interacted with Jaren. Dumbledore decided to speak up. "But what do you know about him as a person? His likes, his dislikes, what he does in his spare time?"

Another silence, longer this time. Minerva was the first to break it.

"He can be very impatient. I remember one time I was passing out tools and paused for a few minutes to ask Mr. Longbottom about his essay. Mr. Jaren looked as if he was ready to snatch the box out of my hand," said Pomona.

"Well, he's definitely a perfectionist. I said his wand work was perfect, and he looked at me like I was insane," said Filius.

"Jaren is precise. He wastes no time on idle chatter, which is more than can be said for the rest of the dunderheads I teach," Snape added.

And so it went. The staff now painted a very different picture. The picture of a young and intelligent boy, but one who was also both arrogant and impatient. That was... unpleasantly familiar. But even Tom had never done something like eat a boggart, and he certainly hadn't been so helpful in fighting the Dark Lord of the time. This was useful information, but Dumbledore could make no conclusions from it. Just what was Thenabar Jaren, and what would he become?

**(Transition)**

Abathur was quickly running out of intact stone tablets to carve runes on, mostly because all the sequences he was carving on them seemed to be so volatile. Why was this so difficult? The patterns of runes in class had been simple, conditional configurations, with one trigger and one effect, linear. So why, whenever he tried applying the concepts on a larger scale, were there so many explosions?

At least it had the fortunate side effect of clearing the Slytherin common room. It appeared few terrans liked the sound of continuous explosions. Or the resulting dust going everywhere. Or sharp stone shards flying into their flesh. Maybe he could keep some of the particularly explosive sequences.

But that wasn't the goal. Babbling had taught the class the sequence needed for a basic shield, a bubble. The design was uncomplicated. But whenever Abathur tried to apply those concepts to his own project of a multi-layered, shape-reactive, self repairing shield, it just shattered violently. He was getting tired of having to regrow parts of his eyes.

Why was this proving so difficult? As the Evolution master, he had assembled new constructs out of nothing but a few chemicals arranged in varying sequences. Granted, a lot of those were patterns taken from other organisms, but not all, and what he was trying to make was far, far simpler than that. Did runes follow a separate sets of rules? Abathur had had his fair share of explosions working on creatures (it had taken a lot of time to clean up the remains of the hydra-roach), but seventeen tablets in a row was absurd.

Perhaps he was going about this incorrectly. It was a different medium, a form of essence with rules and complications he knew nothing of. He knew enough of it to create more than Babbling intended to teach, but runes at the complexity of genetics was beyond him. Creation like that would have to wait, for now. After all, Babbling had yet more to teach him, and he had more time to experiment with simpler forms. Sooner or later, he would understand the essence of psionics. Even if he had to work with the dust that had been tablet 18.

**(Transition)**

If there were any witnesses to the remainder of the war between the ants, they could have only described it as an execution. The Hive rallied their newly diversified forces, and, after reclaiming their demolished territory, set themselves on the remainder of the super-colony with a vengeance. There was no possibility of the super-colony fighting back. Armies were shattered. Nests burned. For the Hive had no mercy, and the super-colony had posed a threat one too many times.

The ants of the super-colony had no way to fight against flying opponents or parasites. They were infested or devoured, along with their queens. Armored beetles and stinging scorpions carved bloody paths through any meagre resistance the colony pulled together. Every last patch of eggs, every tunnel, every last chance for the super-colony to survive was annihilated. Soon, there was nothing left.

Almost as soon as the super-colony was eliminated, the Hive moved in. Webs covered the ground and trees, a visible marker of their misshapen blob of influence. Even the larger creatures learned to avoid the area controlled by the Hive, bears and deer carefully stepping just out of the area of webs lest they be swarmed with stingers and fangs. The Hive seemed to control their territory absolutely.

Then came the new prey. An odd creature, standing on two legs, with two manipulator limbs. Nearly completely devoid of hair or carapace aside from its very top. It was wrapped in odd colored substances the likes of which the Hive hadn't before seen. It was carrying a small box with a clear front.

Spiders and ants moved to observe the creature from afar. It was different from the other prey. It did not step onto the webs and die. It did not run from it. It just stayed at the border, pointing its odd tool at the webs and the Hive. At one point, the creature even put the box a mere inch away from a worker ant scurrying along the webs. Its actions made no sense.

The Hive waited and watched the interloper, even as it did the same to them. The Hive waited, swarms of various strains gathered, waiting for anything to give them a reason to attack. Caution had its place, but so did preemptive strikes. If the prey displayed anything resembling aggression, it would be consumed. They could always find the key to its behavior within the essence.

The intruder took a single step too far, its foot coming to rest on a collection of threads. As one, the Hive acted. The bee swarm moved forward, while the assorted ground based creatures rushed ahead and climbed up the offending limb. Once they had covered the base, they bit... into nothing. More and more coating was all they could find, all they could dig their mandibles into.

Before they could climb any higher, the ants found themselves shaken off, the covering they were grasping separated from the prey. The flying swarm moved in at the Hive's behest, only to meet a cloud of toxic mist emitted from a cylinder the prey was wielding. The swarm scattered, some falling to the ground. They did not rise.

The Hive sent more troops. Ants and spitters, along with heavier units, but by then the prey was fleeing. Off the webs, they didn't have the speed to pursue on foot, and the flying creatures were useless so long as the mist remained in its hands. No matter. Every threat would be eliminated sooner or later. The Hive was willing to wait.

**(Transition)**

**Mutalisk: The Swarm's most distinctive flying unit, the mutalisk is a fast, damaging, agile harasser. Resembling a bat, it flies on two, hand-like wings, or uses gas for propulsion while outside of the atmosphere. Its bottom half is a gaping mouth, a separate parasite that launches itself. The glaive wurm projectile, the repurposed variant of the parasite, and the main weapon of the mutalisk, is a living thing, that redirects itself to strike multiple foes before detonating. They are effective both against aerial and ground targets. Mutalisks, due to their high speed and regeneration, are most frequently used as harassers, striking at supply lines before flying and regrouping. Distinctive and deadly, flying from one target to the next before moving in for the kill, these are what make the mutalisk such a ubiquitous and lethal force of the Swarm.**


	20. Parallel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Yes, I do like ants. They are glorious and numerous and efficient and deadly and cute. But the ones I have are not science. They are nothing near science. What I'm trying to say is, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas science anymore. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Look, a transition! Where? Why right here! Don't you know what a transition looks like? No? Well, they look like this. What a stunning and completely new revelation!)**
> 
> _Actually, they're much shorter in practice. But if you didn't know that, I don't know why you're starting on chapter 20. ~f_

Add the belladonna petal to his right hand, let the bacteria break away the extraneous material, while keeping the left hand stirring the existing mixture. The mandrake needed to be added at the exact moment the sodium phosphate and thallium oxide started reacting to each other. The toxin neutralizer was nearly completed within Abathur's own body, and would be ready to concentrate and release at the same time as the belladonna. Then, the potion would finally be complete, after half a dozen failed attempts. He was honestly surprised at the difficulty. Most potions the humans had made were simple, both to make and to convert to more effective variants. This one was genuinely challenging, a rare diversion. That it was more important than any of the other potions he had made only made the challenge more engaging.

Abathur was very, very close to completing the potion used in the animagus ritual, the one used to find one's form and, presumably, get its essence. The cauldron sat in front of him, boiling a sickly white as Abathur prepared the final ingredients, the components that would stabilize the mixture. And then he could truly cast of the terran shell, if only temporarily.

Some of the mistakes could likely have been avoided if he'd only been more patient. An ingredient added before processing was done, stirring one direction rather than the other (Abathur had no idea why that made a difference, yet the ruins of the bronze cauldron he had been using proved it did), or, apparently, sneezing in the potion, all ruined it. He really did need to fix his allergies.

But he had taken a great deal of extra care on the brew in front of him. Absolutely no mistakes were allowed. At last, he added the final ingredients. The potion bubbled and sparked, turning a dark purple color. Abathur picked up the cauldron and poured it into a bottle. A second later, the contents of the bottle went down his throat.

Abathur wasn't entirely sure what would happen next. According to the book he had gotten the original potion recipe from, he was supposed to sit down in an isolated area. Well, the deserted classroom he was using was isolated enough. Abathur took a seat in and waited. A moment later, his head slammed into the desk.

Abathur didn't notice. He wasn't in a classroom, in a human school for psionics, in a room filled with dust and cobwebs. He saw something much better.

Curving lines of black, ribbed carapace. A cavern filled with pillars of flesh and soft green light. Everywhere he looked, cocoons filled with a green fluid. They varied in shade and size, but they all had something within them, things of twisted flesh and glowing tumors. Through a particularly large cocoon, a massive larva stared at him with a multitude of glowing eyes.

Abathur was home.

Not really, of course. His current shell was probably slumped over a desk, comatose. He would be gone from the illusion the second the potion wore off. But for the moment, he could enjoy the familiar surroundings of the Evolution pit, the place he had made and worked in for uncountable years. Even if only temporarily, it was glorious to once again be within its confines.

A familiar slithering sound pulled Abathur from his nostalgia. It came up behind Abathur, who rapidly turned around to face it. It was him. The evolution master in all his glory. He had expected this, had it described in the book. A vision of the being he would become. Abathur approached his future and past. "Give essence. Required for form." No need to be subtle. It was him after all.

The vision ignored him. Well, there hadn't been any refusal. Abathur reached to one of the globes hanging off the side of his head, aiming to pull it off. His hand passed right through.

Confused, Abathur attempted to grab more of the essence containing flesh of the hallucination. Again, his hand went directly through, touching nothing. As if it was nothing but an image. A hallucination with nothing to grab. But that couldn't be. He needed this essence, needed it to transform. Needed it to escape the flesh he was imprisoned in. If he couldn't get it the normal way then- then... Focus. Dampen adrenaline. Stressors reveal flaws. Flaws reveal potential. If Abathur couldn't get the essence the traditional way, then he would need to get as much as possible and build up the rest on his own. He could still see the strands contained within the vision before him. It wouldn't give him the same clarity as consuming its flesh. But it would be enough to build off, to recreate his essence, make it anew.

Abathur ran his eyes over everything in front of him, committing the glimpses of essence to memory. Markers, proteins, controllers, he examined as much as he could. He knew he was on a time limit. The moment the last drop of potion was purified, this image would disappear as suddenly as it had came.

Abathur stared at the image for what felt like hours, unmoving and unblinking as the apparition moved around the evolution pit. He stared until his eyes felt as if they were all but dried husks, and his limbs trembled with the effort of staying still. He may not get another chance, not with the gazes of the terrans upon him, and not with all the ingredients that he had needed to steal to make the potion.

Abathur was interrupted by a rough shake on the shoulder. Within a second, the visions of home, purpose, and essence were replaced with the cold stone of Hogwarts and the peering stares of his camouflages. What had happened? He should still have enough potion flowing through his mind to inspire the vision. Why had he been pulled out?

Abathur took a cursory glance through his camouflages' minds. Perhaps they had seen what happened, why the potion had worn off so soon. What he saw only took a few seconds to fill him with rage.

"Unacceptable. Removed from trance!" How easy it would be to seize their flesh, pour venom into their veins, sever their spines at the base. They had removed his escape, his one chance at regaining his own essence!

The terrans looked back at him, shocked. "We thought there was something wrong with you." Harry said. "You weren't responding when we called out to you."

Abathur didn't care about their excuses. These  _terrans_ had removed him from home, stolen everything,  _again_! "Response, intentional. Removal not option!"

Unfortunately, the human's eyes had wandered. Abathur saw Hermione looking behind him, her gaze wandering to the book he had been using. Her eyes widened. "Abathur, were you trying to become an Animagus? That's incredibly dangerous. You could have killed yourself!"

"More dangerous with interference," Abathur responded. "Will remove additional risk. Permanently."

"Mate, what are you saying?" Ron said.

With missiles and bullets or shakes and concern, it didn't seem to matter, every time terrans were anywhere near him, they got in the way, or they attempted to kill him. "Interruption, will not occur again. Your presence, undesirable. Will not continue." Necessity of camouflage be damned, these humans would spend no longer near him. Unwilling to spend any longer in their company, Abathur walked right past his former camouflage. He wasn't sure of his exact destination, but he knew it would be far from them. With luck, he wouldn't have to restrain himself next time they met.

**(Transition)**

The oddly carapaced bipeds didn't stop coming, with their cubes of metal, and their cylinders of noxious poison. Every day, like clockwork, they arrived at the fringes of the Hive territory. Sometimes in different places, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone, but they always came. Why, the Hive could not discern. All they seemed to do was observe, but the Hive knew they still posed a grave threat. The empty shells of several flying swarms, and the crushed remains of ground soldiers gave proof enough of that.

At first, the Hive was content to let them observe. They stayed for the most part outside the realm of the webs, taking care to avoid them even as the spiders spread them under their feet. But sooner or later, they all stepped one point too far, or crushed a Hive member. Then they were attacked, chased away rather than killed. It was not for a lack of trying on the Hive's part. The intruders simply had too many tools, too many weapons at their disposal for any significant pressure.

With such a consistent threat on their borders, the Hive began attacking on sight. Any sign of pink flesh and rainbow carapace was met with a rush of the Hives soldiers to drive it away. Never did they manage to inflict crippling damage, but stings, needles and parasites still took their toll upon the trespassers, much to their regret.

This state of affairs continued for some time, the interlopers remaining at the edges of the Hive territory, and the Hive driving them off, but still experiencing casualties. Then one day, the Hive got lucky. A smaller intruder, escorted by others of similar size, carrying no deadly canisters, and seemingly unknowing of the Hive's borders. It wandered within them, seemingly without a care. Had the intruders truly grown so bold? If so, they would teach it why the others had fled.

The Hive swarmed forward. This time, there was no cloud of poison to meet them. The ants and flyers swarmed over the small one. It had no defenses, and fell quickly under the tide of venom and fangs. Soon, it was dead. Perhaps they could figure out its species' tricks from the essence the fallen one would provide.

The others attempted to flee, but the legs they depended on were no match in speed for the wings of the Hive swarms. Before they had gone more than a dozen steps, the barrage of stings and needles brought all of them down. They had not been prepared to face the Hive, and paid the appropriate price. This bade well for the Hive. It meant even the mightiest fell, had weaknesses that could be exploited. The Hive would be sure to take advantage of it.

**(Transition)**

(Transcript of broadcast from radio channel 3.14, broadcasted at 9:53 am, 3/27/93

_And now we're joined by entomologist Gabe Minrat, here to talk about the newly discovered species of ant rampaging through Trossachs national park. Mr. Minrat, thank you for joining us._

_My pleasure, Jerry._

_Now, tell me, what's so special about this particular species of ant, and why is there so much excitement about it?_

_Well, these recruiter ants, as we're calling them, have colonies that aren't made of of just ants. We've seen bees, wasps, spiders, scorpions and beetles, working alongside them, and those are just the ones we've seen! That kind of cooperation among such diverse species is completely unprecedented behavior, we've never seen anything like them. And to think, they're right here in Scotland._

_But where on Earth_ _did these ants come from? Surely they didn't just spring up overnight._

_Of course not. Now, we don't know exactly how they got so big, but the recruiter ants were likely being suppressed by some predator that we removed, or they got here from another continent. Whatever the cause, they have grown quite a bit._

_But what effect would this have? What can we expect to change in the areas where these recruiter ants have spread?_

_Long term, we can definitely see some major ecological effects. Recruiter ants completely take over whatever habitat they inhabit, especially since there seems to be a complete lack of infighting. It's really an unprecedented level of cooperation. They actively hunt any creatures within their territory, and anything that so much as touches the webs they've spread around the place. My team have been chased off more times than we can count._

_They've chased you off? Are they aggressive towards humans?_

_Extremely so. At first, they only attacked when we disturbed their webs, but by this point, any sign of us causes them to attack. Just the other day, a group of teens wandered into their territory, and they were swarmed and killed before there was any chance for escape. We only found them days after the fact._

_Thats... thats terrible. Is anything going to be done about them?_

_At this point, we likely have no other choice. Normally, we could ignore this. Wild creatures kill people sometimes. It's unfortunate, but it happens. But with the recruiter ants, even leaving aside the ecological effects, they are spreading dangerously close to human settlements, and that's not going to end well._

_How would you push them back?_

_Well, at first, we considered fire, but that has obvious problems. Manual removal isn't really an option with the numbers involved. But, fortunately, the ants have displayed quite a weakness to insecticides. We're probably going to have to run a full-on extermination campaign, at the rate these creatures expand. If we don't wipe them out, completely they'd just come back, given time._

**(Transition)**

**Hydralisk: The most distinctive and emblematic of zerg forces, the hydralisk is a spine launching infantry unit. Sadistic and deadly, the hydralisk resembles a long snake, albeit one with a massive crest, long, scythe tipped arms, and a face that only a masochist could love, as said face immediately rips apart its victims. Hydralisks are by far the most savage of zerg creatures, a trait the swarm uses ruthlessly, even putting them into a frenzy during combat to increase their effectiveness. The hydralisk's main form of attack is launching high-speed needles, penetrating deep into flesh, metal, and plasma alike. A sustained barrage of hydra spines can annihilate anything from colossi to battlecruisers. The greatest symbol of the Swarm's military, any sighting of a hydralisk is a sure sign of a nearby zerg force.**


	21. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Note to self: think of something to put here. Do not upload this without putting in the disclaimer.
> 
> **(And a transition joke. I need one of those too. Make sure to add that.)**
> 
> _I'm calling it now, he's going to completely forget to change any of that. ~f_

It was a rare occasion indeed which found Dumbledore looking through the nightmare of paperwork that composed Hogwarts' history. Even rarer, he was doing so _voluntarily_. There were mounds of receipts, endless piles of lists and reports, forgotten essays, and Merlin knew how the papers here had simply crumbled into dust decades ago from. But in this case, he was willing to bear the torment, for the endless rows of bureaucracy's litter box could help him solve the mystery that was Thenabar Jaren.

The subject of Dumbledore's search was any record of someone by the last name of "Jaren" who had gone to Hogwarts. Hopefully, that would lead Dumbledore to answers about the mystery that was Thenabar Jaren.

Eyes weary, Dumbledore scanned over the latest in a long pile of student rosters. A quick charm blew the dust of the pile, revealing this stack to be the roster of 1954. He set it down next to the others, and began reading. With the soft glow of wand light illuminating the paper, Dumbledore's eyes traveled carefully down the list. It seemed to go on and on, despite the fact that this list was no longer than any of the others. Zibitickle Ingrum. Wharnal Jabby. Faris Jaren. Humbla... wait. Dumbledore read the last name again. Jaren, right there. He at last had a name, something to search for.

"Accio Faris Jaren paperwork!" Streams of paper flew towards Dumbledore, assembling themselves into a neat stack. The Summoning charm was so versatile with the proper focus. Dumbledore picked up the first sheet and began reading through the pile. Let's see, This Faris Jaren seemed to have earned NEWTs in Arithmancy, History of Magic, and OWLs in Arithmancy, as well as all of the core classes. Looking at the results, Dumbledore winced internally. Faris Jaren hadn't done well on his OWLs overall, particularly in his Defense OWL. Despite this, all that was in the file were grades and a few old reports, as well as a detention or two. There was nothing truly notable about him, or nothing that the staff of the time had noticed. Dumbledore himself could hardly remember the boy. It seemed that if Thenabar's exceptional oddity came from his parents, it hadn't come from his father.

Dumbledore re-filed the papers with another flick of his wand. It seemed that nothing in Hogwarts would help solve the mystery of Thenabar, but now he had a name, a place to start looking. It wasn't much, but it was as good a place to start as any.

**(Transition)**

It was rather strange. Throughout all the Hive's existence, fighting the super colony, assimilating colony after colony, assimilating species, there had never before been consideration of a tangible...end. There were now billions of members, all working as one force, so how could such a great entity end? Of course, many things that seemed impossible were only a hair's breadth from unleashing themselves on reality, and this was no different.

The Hive had severely underestimated the power of the two-legged intruders. They had somehow adapted armor the Hive could barely even scratch, poison that slaughtered hordes of soldiers at once, and worst of all, they were very nearly as coordinated as the Hive itself. It was almost as though this was an entirely different breed of intruder, but the hive had, at great cost, confirmed that these intruders were both functionally identical in their essence to the previous intruders, and capable of hiding the secret to their greatest strengths. On top of that, the intruders had never been trying to attack them before, that much was readily apparent now. But the Hive had shown itself to be a threat, killing the members of their species, attacking the larger, better armed ones, and now the intruders had decided that enough was enough. The intruders, it seemed, didn't tolerate threats any more than the Hive did.

Nearly simultaneously, intruders arrived along the edges of the Hive, clad in bright yellow, massive canisters strapped to their backs. Rather than skulking about the edges of the webs as they had before, these interlopers  _attacked._  They strode confidently forward, spraying poison everywhere they could, wiping out hundreds of Hive soldiers and workers with every puff of gas. Every time the Hive attempted to form a counter attack, to rush at the intruders and put an end to them, they were caught by the deadly fog. Even those few lucky enough to reach the intruders could do no harm, as they were stopped short by the nearly impenetrable yellow armor. Volleys of acid, hordes of scorpions, swarming bees, none seemed to have any effect upon the material of the intruders.

There seemed to be absolutely no way to stop the intruders advance, and the paths they had chosen left no room for escape. For once, a threat could not be eliminated. It could not be absorbed. Without intervention, the Hive would swiftly join the super-colony in oblivion.

Intervention. The Hive grasped onto the thought, using it as a lifeline. They didn't know how to deal with the intruders, but perhaps It did. There was hope for the Hive yet.

The Queens shifted their focus, even as their children were slaughtered in the millions every second. They stretched their mind, pulling their consciousness beyond their bodies, and reached into the void. With luck, the Mind would answer them once again.

**(Transition)**

Suddenly, Abathur's arm blew up. Again. And as before, with a quick mend, Abathur had another one. Somehow, he didn't like it as much as the last one.

These annoyances had been going on for some time. The few snapshots of essence he had gained from the potion induced vision were far from easy to piece into anything resembling coherency, let alone the seamless blend it was intended as. It didn't help that Abathur's essence was already an amalgamation of every other zerg creature. It was like remaking a whole brood from mere images of anatomy. It didn't help that whenever the strands were less than viable, the affected part detonated. Speaking of which, there went his eye. At least he was getting practice with decontamination spells.

At this point, it looked as if he was going to have to hybridize. To assimilate foreign essence in order to compensate for the gaps in the original. But how would Abathur be able to gather the essence he required? He would need around a dozen more moderately diverse species just to get started.

Perhaps he could start with the  **intruders poison attack assist** limbs on his back. Even if  **desperation help extinction** the essence wasn't exact, they weren't  **armor cannot breach not enough** particularly complex structures. They were essentially just  **end near, fear** fine tipped spikes attached to limbs. The more complex functions could be  **help us command us help us** added later, assuming, of course, that  **help us help us help us help us help us** the Hive stopped interrupting him so frequently. What was so important that it lead to a request for attention every few seconds?

Perhaps it would be worth investigating this interruption. It was not as if it was normal for the Hive to demand his attention so desperately. Nor was he making progress on restoring his own essence. There was quite literally nothing better to do.

Reluctantly, Abathur pulled his attention away from essence weaving, and towards the rhythmic cacophony of minds that was the Hive. The first thing that drew his attention was the size. When Abathur had first created the Hive, it had been but a single colony, barely holding an area the larger than the log of their main colony. Now, they covered ground the size of a full zerg hive cluster, and had a population in the trillions. Not only that, but they now possessed essence from dozens of species. The weaved essence was sloppy, but effective. Abathur had intended for the Hive to be small scale experiment, beings to test on free from human eyes. This result exceeded his wildest expectations. He would need to pay far more attention to the Hive in the future, even if only to examine the essence they had shaped. But why had the Hive so suddenly, desperately reached for him?

Abathur scanned through the minds of the Hive, and almost immediately felt a wave of distress and death wash over him. The Hive was being exterminated, slaughtered in droves. This was unacceptable! He gathered his focus around one such concentration of death and pushed forward, taking control of the Hive's senses and movement. What he saw terrified him.

Terrans. Armored terrans, attacking the Hive, spraying some meagre toxin, slaughtering his Hive. Abathur was nowhere near ready to fight the humans, and now they were marching through his creations, slaughtering them en masse. If they somehow traced the Hive back to him, unlikely as that was, they would kill him. He had no way to fight against hordes of banshees, armies of marines, even so much as a single battlecruiser. There were no overseers to spot ghosts as they scouted his territory, no roaches to ambush siege tanks. This experiment had gone too far and he needed to pull it back, make sure the humans had no way to trace it back to him. Nothing could remain.

Abathur looked through the species the hive had collected, looking for a way to engineer an escape. He was on borrowed time. Sooner or later, the humans would finish, and then they would have plenty of material to investigate. Abathur found a solution to both in the form of a tunneling invertebrate, a creature the Hive had turned into a burrowing devourer. Good.

Abathur sent them into the frontlines, having them consume their fallen brethren. They moved through the earth like a wave, scouring the forest floor. As they ate more, they gained biomass, preparing themselves for evolution. Abathur rapidly read and made adjustments to the worm's essence, setting a trigger for when they grew enough. One by one, the worms grew in size and strength, acquiring a golden shimmer to Abathur's senses. They were almost ready, but Abathur still needed more time that the humans weren't allowing him.

Abathur wracked his brain for anything that could halt the terran advance. The only things left near the terrans were the webs that the Hive had been using as a primitive form of creep. The strands littered the ground around the poison spewers. An idea struck Abathur, just insane enough to be highly possible. His recent tutelage in psionics might just bear fruit. He ordered a worm to surface, and the beast took a breath of poison for Abathur to examine. A moment later, a few hundred newly immune spiders ran onto the webs covering the trees and plants at each human group. They settled into a ring surrounding the exterminators, and dug their limbs into the threads, pulling and twisting them into new patterns. A remote burst of psionic power from Abathur powered the newly formed rune sequences, surrounding the terrans with a shimmering blue shield. He spared a second to check that the makeshift prison was working, a fact confirmed by the humans alarmed shouts.

Several more anxious minutes passed in relative peace as the terrans struggled to escape while the worms continued feasting on the fallen. Soon they had eaten their fill. Abathur encased them all in shimmering, elongated cocoons, mutating their very being into a new tool of the Swarm. Soon the new worms emerged, wider and longer than before, with pores covering their sides and a massive front maw.

The new worms dug back into the earth and spread out. Abathur distributed the tunneling creatures far and wide, keeping them moving around the entirety of the Hive's territory. Their bodies carved massive gaps under the terran, while the pores on their sides poured out liquid, stiffening and reinforcing the tunnel walls. In the space of a few minutes, a whole new tunnel network ran across the Hive colonies. The Hive poured into the new tunnels, huddling underground, disappearing from the surface.

Meanwhile, the terrans remained trap in their cage of psionics. Abathur had marshalled the butterflies assimilated by the Hive, flying them in spirals around the terrans, blocking their view. He would let them take nothing more, not even paltry information, from this conflict.

The Hive gathered itself underground, lining up behind the worms. With a signal from Abathur, they marched forward underground, moving northeast at a rapid pace. With luck, they would arrive within a few days, hidden from the view of humans. In such close proximity, Abathur could keep a much closer eye on the Hive, and he could develop them so much more. He was sure he could find a great deal of use for the Hive at Hogwarts.

 

**(Transition)**

 

 **Queen: *feauxen steals keyboard***  Elizabeth the second has been ruling England for like 90 years now. She's really old, and I do mean  _really_  old. She's probably secretly sipping on some immortality cocktail, waiting for the right moment to take over the world. Just you wait. It'll happen. You'll all see.

*puts on tinfoil hat*

(Oh, and she's also secretly an infested Zerg who's plotting against humanity.)

(I was right about the disclaimer and the transition joke, therefore I am right about all of this.)

~f

**(Moving on...)**

**Queen: The generals of the Zerg Swarm, Queens serve as caretakers and commanders for every brood. A more humanoid body mounted on a large base of webbed feet is a familiar profile for any would-be attacker of a zerg hive cluster. Queens generally keep close to hatcheries, acting as defenders. This is both because they move extremely slowly off creep, and because they can boost the larva output of any hatchery. Unique in the swarm, Queens are not produced from larva or mutated from other strains, but are rather produced directly by hatcheries. Queens attack either by launching deadly spines, much like hydralisks, or by lashing out with their bladed wings. Queens, and their more developed counterparts, Broodmothers, serve as the command creatures of the Zerg Swarm, leading them to victory after victory.**


	22. Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: How to not science in 4 simple steps. Step 1, make a fanfiction account. Step 2, start a fic. Step 3, copy and paste these steps into the disclaimer. Step 4, start writing, possibly with a joke about a random quirk of your writing that really doesn't matter as much as you've made it seem to.
> 
> **(I am uniquely positioned to determine the renditions of transitions, as I am the one deciding its repetitions and traditions)**
> 
> _Yeah, I don't get it either. ~f_
> 
> **(Is that your admission of cognition that I am the superior tactician in this war of attrition with an unclear mission, and that you admit to submission of your own volition?)**
> 
> _That's me saying that there is no literal meaning behind your words so that the readers don't think they've missed anything. He's just being wordy and rhyming every few words, people. If it makes sense, it was by accident. I think. ~f_

If Abathur hadn't known better, he would have assumed that his former camouflage was scouting him for a kill. They hid around corners, stalked him through the library and the corridors, attempting to corner him between classes. For weeks, they had been trying to corner him. They were persistent, if nothing else. It would almost have been impressive, if he hadn't known their plans before they made them and been able to feel their minds before they got even remotely close to succeeding. Still, it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

Abathur maneuvered around the crowd blocking the exit to Ancient Runes. The terrans were approaching on the other side, preparing to block him off before he exited the room. They would not succeed. Fortunately, after this, they wouldn't have to. The second he exited the classroom, Abathur turned a corner and stayed there, waiting. With luck, they would no longer be stalking him after this.

It took only a few seconds for his former camouflage to rush by. The humans would have likely completely passed him in a few more seconds. They would only notice him if he intentionally drew attention to himself.

"Cease attempts to contact."

The terrans stopped in their tracks, and rapidly turned to face Abathur. "Where have you been?" Hermione demanded. "We've been trying to find to you for weeks!"

"Am aware. Contact, undesirable. Only purpose here, ending future attempts," Abathur replied coolly.

The silence was deafening. His former camouflage just stood there, frozen in place. Abathur was always glad to see humans getting the message quickly. It saved him a lot of time. He turned to walk away, his business concluded only to be interrupted.

"What, is that it? You're just going to avoid us for the rest of the year?" Harry asked, stepping towards Abathur. Abathur kept a close eye on the wand in Harry's pocket.

"Year, arbitrary. Will avoid for remainder of lives." Abathur stated.

"You can't be serious," Ron said, his face unnaturally pale. Perhaps he was suffering from circulation issues. Abathur could exploit that later.

"Do not understand. Am serious. Statement, unclear." Abathur said. Silence reigned once again. After a long pause, Abathur moved to walk away, only to be interrupted, yet again.

"No, you aren't," Harry said. "You're only pushing us away because you're upset."

"Abathur... we're sorry. We didn't mean to interrupt you, we were just worried, and didn't realize how important is was to you" Hermione chimed in.

If all they were going to do was spout emotion based nonsense, this was even more of a waste of time than he had already thought. Abathur continued on his way to his next class. The declaration had been given, whether they heeded it or not was out of his control. Not that he cared either way. It was not particularly hard to evade them.

"Are you really just going to walk away?" Ron asked. "If that's how much we mean to you, what was the point of being friends with us in the first place?"

That stopped Abathur in his tracks. A chill went down his spine, as he realized exactly what he was doing. Like it or not, he still needed camouflage, still needed a way to stay beneath notice. If he walked away now, he had no cover, no layer of protection, no method of blending into the crowd. If he remained outside a group, Abathur might as well invite the terrans to kill him.

Abathur turned around, and slowly walked back to the terrans, hanging his head low. A sign of submission, necessary to pull this off. When he was within half a body's length, he stopped, and raised his eyes to meet each of their's in turn. "Am..." He took a moment to inhale, as if hesitant over what to say next. He wasn't. "Sorry. Was... angry. Irrational. Interruption, at vital point." Abathur ran a quick probe across their memories for the ideal phrase. "Was not thinking straight. Forgiveness, possible?" It was, of course. This was what Boggart essence was best for.

Abathur felt the emotional change in Hermione first, quickly followed by a physical one. The muscles around her eyes relaxed, and she stepped forward, meeting Abathur halfway. Then, unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around him. Abathur tensed, expecting an attack. He was actively resisting the reflex to kill her for getting so close, but there was no hostility in her emotions.

"Of course, Abathur. That's what we've been trying to get you to let us

do this whole time."

The other two followed her lead. "Yeah, don't worry about it," Ron said, standing behind Hermione. "We're all idiots sometimes. At least you got over it, mate."

Harry was the next to speak. "Everyone makes mistakes, you just have to admit it."

They expected a response from Abathur. Some form of acknowledgement. "Thank you." Simple and seemingly sincere. Effective.

"Don't worry about it. You can make it up to me by having a rematch in chess. Maybe you'll even learn to play this time!" Ron said.

"You're just asking that because you can't trick me into playing against you anymore," Harry chimed in.

"Still, terms acceptable. Name time," Abathur said.

And so, the conversation drifted to more mundane topics, familiar patterns reasserting themselves. The crisis had passed, for now. At the moment, he needed his camouflage and the cover they provided. If reconciliation was the price to pay for safety, so be it. But Abathur could only deal with them for so much longer. And when he was done with these humans, they would be cast aside without a second thought.

**(Transition)**

Breakfast and the newspaper were two things that went together in very well in the wizarding world, provided that you didn't mind the occasional owl feather in your eggs. Fortunately, Dumbledore was of the opinion that when feathers did appear, they added an excellent crunch, so he never had a problem enjoying both breakfast and the newspaper with owls flying about, as they were now.

He had been reading through old newspapers last night, looking for mentions of the Jarens, only to find Faris's obituary, and his wife's, Vivira, before that. At the very least, he didn't have to worry about Thenabar having been influenced by Death Eaters. Faris died to Tom's minions, while Vivira passed away in childbirth. But for now, Dumbledore was done with digging through the past, and was cheerfully going through the vents of the present.

It helped that this day's  _Daily Prophet_ was quite interesting. The usual political drivel and gossip was relatively rare, in favor of actual news. It must have been Ms. Skeeters day off. There were some reports on new businesses, events overseas, there was even an article on Muggles for once! Apparently they had stumbled upon a new species of magical creature, right in Scotland in fact.

Intrigued, Dumbledore turned to the page with the rest of the story and began reading. To his surprise, the new species, something the muggles had dubbed recruiter ants, were actually quite close to Hogwarts, almost directly southwest. Hagrid would be quite pleased to hear that. It could even benefit the students to have a new species to study so near to Hogwarts. With a faint smile, Dumbledore continued reading.

As he worked his way down the page, his smile vanished quickly. The ants seemed to be vicious, attacking intruders on their territory indiscriminately. Apparently they had even begun to attack humans just for being remotely  _near_  their webs. Dumbledore had to reread the casualty list twice. Several teenagers had been killed by the ants, all of them the similar in age to his students. Distressed, Dumbledore continued down the page, looking for more details.

The muggles had tried to push back the ants, only to find themselves trapped in a rune-based cage. They remained there for hours, until Ministry officials had arrived and freed them. Most distressingly, the ants had just vanished. All the information in the article had apparently come from these muggle pest controllers and the Ministry personnel who'd freed and obliviated them, after getting the whole story.

With luck, those ants would never threaten the students residing within the castle walls. Even if they came to the castle, the centaurs would keep them in check, much like they did the acromantulas. Dumbledore would get Hagrid to ask Firenze whether he had seen anything. It wouldn't hurt for Hagrid to keep an eye out, either. Maybe Hagrid could ask Firenze and the centaurs to do the same?

Investigating Thenabar could wait until he was more certain of the school's safety. The leads that Dumbledore had uncovered weren't going anywhere in the meantime.

**(Transition)**

There was something comforting to Abathur about being surrounded by trillions of specialized, nearly mindless killing machines who were capable of slaughtering everything in sight, and more than willing to do so at the slightest provocation. He almost felt like he was home again... almost.

The Hive flocked around him, covering trees, plants, and the ground in between. No particle of dust lay undisturbed by the hordes of insects and arachnids modified by his formerly rogue experiment. Before Abathur stood an army that could consume whole planets if let loose, eliminating, adapting to, or consuming anything and everything in its path.

Honestly, he was a bit disappointed.

The Hive seemed to almost utterly lack imagination. Many of the assimilated species were barely modified, with only a few aesthetic changes. The larger species in particular seemed to be almost completely unmodified. Especially considering that those species were ambush predators or armored herbivores, which were poor choices for the rushing masses that the Hive favored. It would be far better to take the traits from these new assimilations and distribute them across the species of the Hive.

The worms Abathur had modified for the Hive's escape were another example. Tunneling creatures almost always had massive utility as transport, ambushers, or constructors. But the Hive had used them as yet another simple weapon, a...chewing creature. It wasn't an inefficient tactic, but it was far from the best use of the worms' essence.

Even their more efficient creations were riddled with flaws. The parasite ridden flyer, for example, had elements of a masterpiece. He believed the humans called it a mosquito, a cleverly designed creature which could infect foes with parasites that quickly fed and grow within their victim, becoming larva which could burst out and attack others around them. Such a unique style of attack was something Abathur wished he'd come up with first. But the use of such a close-range attack nearly eliminated the point of a flying creature, and no effort was made to combat this shortcoming. It was just inefficient, nearly useless in more developed combat.

The smaller independent parasite was another stroke of genius. The humans called these ones ticks, if he recalled correctly. They attacked by latching onto a host and sending them into a frenzy. The concept was nothing new, Abathur had seen the protoss dark archons of the protoss do the same thing. But the actual logistics... The strain was too small to work on larger opponents, and if Abathur made it bigger, then it would be far too bulky to get to and infect its victims. The tick was not designed for rapid movement. The virus that caused the frenzy could still have use, but Abathur would have to find a completely different way to deliver it.

Then there were the Queens. Why on Char had the Hive allowed each of its strains to reproduce independently of each other? A Queen for each species was barely a step away from just reproducing sexually, and that was a poor means of breeding by any measurement. He would probably have to repurpose one species specifically into a breeder to make the Hive more efficient.

The Hive was riddled with problems to a point that bordered on absurdity. Abathur would have to work for days just to get the Hive up to mediocrity, much less something that he could be proud of. He couldn't wait to get started.

**(Transition)**

**Corruptors: Few creatures in the zerg swarm inspire as much terror among the capital ships of the terran and protoss as the corruptor. The tentacled starfighter of the Swarm, the corruptor spews forth molecule disrupting ink sacs, slamming into hulls and annihilating space craft. Corruptors are also able to spew liquid in a solid stream to annihilate structures, or spray a armor weakening substance on any target, depending on the strain. They fly on tendrils of cancerous flesh, carefully regulated and used to produce thrust and lift through the electromagnetic field they create. A fleet of corruptors can shred through ships as quickly as zerglings chew through stalkers. While it is extremely strong on its own, the corruptor is often used only as a transition, a step on the way to yet more powerful creatures, such as the devastating Brood Lord. Whether as a step to stronger weapons, or as a tool to annihilate the enemy, whenever a host of corruptors enters the battlefield, any opponent of the Swarm lives on borrowed time**


	23. Worlds Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a disclaimer. It states that none of the below is in any way science. It says it in a very witty way, one that will make you laugh uncontrollably the second you read it. And you will not stop laughing. Ever. Also, don't own it.
> 
>  
> 
> **(Oh, yeah... There was supposed to be a joke here... um. Give me a second. Wait, look, what's that over there? It's a transition! *runs away*)**
> 
>  
> 
>  _*Watches jacobakc run away.* Well...guess I'm writing the story now. Enjoy! ~f_  
>  In the woods there was a boy. This boy had a club. He also had a sword, a spear, what basically amounted to a lightsaber, a spear that was kind of a lightsaber, a large leaf, as well as a rod that shot lightning. And a mop, for some reason. The boy was currently trying to kill a goat with said mop. This was going about as well as you'd expect. Well, as long as you factored the horse into things, that is. Cl-a-clop cl-a-clop cl-a-clop SMACK! Bleeeeeeat...Cl-a-cl-thud cl-a-clop cl-a-clop. NEIGH! (The horse did that every time it stopped suddenly. The boy secretly thought it enjoyed the drama.) Look at that. A mop could kill a goat in one shot. And now there was more meat for the roast tonight!  
> Oh, crap, he's coming back. HIDE!  
>  **(I come back to goat killing and a poorly sorted Zelda fanfic. I am never leaving you alone again.)**  
>  _That's what he thinks_

During his time imprisoned in terran flesh, there were very few moments where Abathur could have described himself as happy. The moment he saw the boggart, and the moment he consumed it. The time his hands had ripped into the basilisk's flesh, exposing the essence within. Today was looking to be another one of those rare moments. Abathur had been waiting for this day for a very, very long time. For nearly a year he'd been spinning essence, learning magic, and evolving the Hive in preparation for this assault. And now, finally, everything had come together.

As he walked through the Forbidden Forest, sneaking past the domains of creatures who would have attacked without a second thought, his smile only grew wider. More prey, more essence. But they could wait for later; at the present, he had somewhere to be. He moved stealthily forward, accompanied only by the rustling of leaves, and the occasional insectoid buzz. Within him viruses, bacteria, toxins and acids, flowed within him, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. Even as he walked, he worked to further improve these weapons. Perfection was a moving goal, after all.

As the light shining through the leaves became more and more rare, the cover above and below was slowly becoming covered in more and more strands of silky web. Abathur could see spying spiders scurrying around him, disappearing into cracks and shadows when they felt his attention. The Hive followed, and ensured that these spies did not come back out.

It took only a few more minutes before the expansive web, home of the acromantulas, came into view. They were skittering through the web-covered branches, chittering as they bore witness to Abathur's silent march. With every step he took toward the web, more and more acromantulas poured out of the darkness. Soon enough, the largest of the horde emerged, peering through milky pupils at Abathur's own green eyes. Then, in a rasping voice, he spoke.

"What an interesting manling," Aragog said. "It is rare enough for one of your kind to be found in our hollow, but to return of your own will...you are truly an odd one. Tell me, what brings you back into our home?"

Abathur didn't respond, standing silently before the towering acromantula. If Aragog was expecting anything else, he did not show it.

"Nothing to say?" Aragog asked. "Very well. If it is your desire become a meal, then I will not deny my children your flesh."

With that, the acromantulas surged forward. On both sides of Abathur, an acromantula pounced forward, intent on sinking their fangs into his flesh. Two of them were but a foot away when Abathur acted.

_Snick._

In a blur, two new limbs extended from Abathur's back; gray, spindly things, ending in thin, vicious blades. The scythe limbs impaled the two spiders through the top of their heads and continued down, pinning them to the ground. Only then did Abathur speak, with a deep, reverberating tone that could never have come from a human throat.

"Your weakness, unacceptable. Will correct."

**(Transition)**

"Ah, Albus," Ollivander peered at his visitor from behind thick lenses. "This is a pleasant surprise."

Dumbledore made his way through the dust of Ollivander's wand shop to where the old wandmaker stood. "Garrick, it is good to see you again. I hope you don't mind me popping in."

"Not at all, not at all," Ollivander waved dismissively. "It's always a pleasure to have visitors, especially this time of year. Now, what can I do for you, Albus?"

"Unfortunately, this is a little more than a social call," Dumbledore said. "I read that you were friends with the Jaren family. I was wondering what you could tell me about them."

The change in Ollivander was sudden. His faint smile disappeared. He began fiddling with his wand absentmindedly, and his eyes darted rapidly around the shop, refusing to look Dumbledore in the eyes. "And where, exactly, did you read that?"

"Their obituaries," Dumbledore said in a solemn tone.

"I suppose that would do it," Ollivander grimaced. "And what precisely do you want to know about the Jarens?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Dumbledore replied. "I have reason to believe the Jarens' family history may help me to understand some rather odd things that have been occurring of late." At that, Ollivander's hands froze. His wand dropped through stiff fingers, clattering to the floor.

"It didn't just fail," Ollivander muttered. " Of course it didn't. Why couldn't it just have failed?"

"What didn't just fail?" Dumbledore asked, but Ollivander wasn't paying attention to him anymore.

"Where did we go wrong?" Ollivander asked the ceiling, seeming to ignore Dumbledore entirely, "Why did it have to go so wrong?"

"Garrick!" Dumbledore all but shouted. "What are you talking about?"

This seemed to finally get through to Ollivander. His eyes refocused on Dumbledore, and he seemed to regain much of his composure. "Sorry, Albus. I had hoped that particular incident was long buried. I thought, after their child showed up, right as rain, I thought that everything could move on."

"Their child?" Dumbledore said. "Garrick, what do you know about Thenabar?"

**(Transition)**

Abathur telekinetically caught three acromantulas in the air, twisted their heads off with a thrust of psionic energy and three brief cracking noises, then tossed them aside. His hand darted out, grabbing the chin of another spider before pumping its brain full of venom. It spasmed briefly, before collapsing in a heap. A cutting curse sent an acromantula crashing through the branches, as it suddenly found itself with only half its legs. Abathur caught another acromantula midair with his scythes, spearing it with both blades, before ripping the attacker in half. The slabs of flesh fell on either side of Abathur as he scanned the makeshift arena for new targets.

It took barely a second before more acromantulas came at him, fangs ready to pierce flesh. Abathur tore through them like a natural disaster. Bodies were scattered around Abathur, twisted, shredded, and filled with holes.

"What do you hope to accomplish here?" Aragog asked from his perch on the web. "My children hopelessly outnumber you. You can not fight them all off all on your own, try as you might, and yet you have made no move to escape. Are you truly this arrogant?"

"Extermination by self, unnecessary," Abathur replied, as another acromantula was crushed in midair. "Test of acromantula capabilities. Found lacking."

"And yet, you stand alone, ready to be consumed by us 'lacking' acromantulas. I was not aware that manlings came with such a poor grasp of reality," Aragog said.

"Do not sense them?" Abathur asked. "Sensory organs, insufficient. Will improve. No more tests required." The buzz that had accompanied Abathur since he first set foot in the woods rose dramatically in volume. It spread and surrounded the central web. Several distinct pitches rose to the surface, and the shadows became alive with the thrum of billions of wings

The Hive emerged from the bushes and the earth, covering the dirt in a carpet of insects. New spiders ran on the acromantulas webs in vast numbers, devouring the few remaining spies. Their mandibles dug into the webs, twisting them into vast arrays of runes. Clouds of flyers swooped and swarmed above. Every single member of the deadly Hive, waiting for the command to attack, to kill.

**(Transition)**

"Ah, Thenabar. Rowan wood, 13 inches, acromantula silk, good for transfiguration. Perfectly fine, both the boy and the wand. No scars like the rest of them," Ollivander said. He was only half-paying attention to Dumbledore.

"Garrick, I still have no idea what you are you talking about," Dumbledore said.

"Oh, yes, I suppose you wouldn't," Ollivander said, refocusing on Dumbledore. "We tried to stop him too, you know. Towards the end, everyone was petrified. Then we, that is, the other people helping with the ritual, heard about your Order of the Phoenix."

"We could hardly sit idly by while others did the fighting for us. And before we knew it, we had our own group, and our own goal. No name for it though; unfortunately no one came up with anything good," Ollivander continued to ramble. "But Adeviar had the notes, and we had the expertise to summon it."

"Summon what?" Dumbledore asked, thoroughly lost.

"Oh, right yes, haven't mentioned that yet.," Ollivander said. "We were trying to summon something that could defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

**(Transition)**

The whole of the Hive paused for one pregnant moment, waiting for the command that would unleash them.

Then, with barely a thought, Abathur released them. And the Hive descended on their prey.

The Hive rampaged through the acromantula hordes. The spiders were completely helpless against their smaller opponents. Any attempt to bite the endless swarms either had no effect, or missed, giving the Hive the opportunity to climb up and lay thousands of burning bites upon the acromantulas. The pincers of the Hive's soldiers dug deep into every weak point of the hardened acromantula carapace. Joints became gates for the Hive to attack.

Some of the arachnids attempted to run, only to find themselves caged within their clearing by a shimmering dome of magic. Abathur made a note of these would-be escapees. They were either the smart ones or the fearful ones. He would find out which later.

The previously indomitable hordes of the acromantula crumbled like dry leaves. Swirling bees and butterflies all but blinded the acromantulas, leaving them unable to regroup, and unable to defend from the hail of projectiles slaughtering them. Abathur barely had to lift a finger at this point; the numbers and the surprise of the Hive's attack made the acromantulas defeat all but certain.

Abathur took a step out of the combat, and walked over to some of the less intact acromantula corpses. While the Hive overwhelmed the survivors, he took a moment to devour some of the corpses' flesh, taking in their essence. It was extremely similar to the already assimilated spiders, requiring almost no effort to convert into a zerg creature, and even less to add those modifications to a virus.

He took a deep breath, and held it momentarily. It came out as a thick green mist which quickly spread. Bacteria in its path became factories, churning out more and more mist. A fog quickly spread across the battlefield. It seemed almost alive, concentrating and pouring into the dead and dying acromantulas. Then, one of them began to twitch.

**(Transition)**

"Oh, it wasn't the best idea, I can see that now. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and, often times, those aren't  _good_  measures," Ollivander explained, only half-present. "So we prepared the circle for the better part of four months, got all the ingredients, memorized our parts. We finally had hope, an end to work for. If anyone can imagine the joy we felt when everything was done, it would be you, Albus. We thought it was finally going to be over. The terror, the murders, wondering whether or not you would live out the day, all of it."

Ollivander paused and took a shuddering breath. He continued in a much more somber tone. "To this day, I still don't know where it all went wrong."

Dumbledore approached the suddenly much smaller Ollivander, and put a hand on his shoulder. "What happened, Garrick?" he said softly. "I need you to tell me."

Ollivander let out a weak laugh. "That's the thing, I barely even remember it, just the aftermath. Half of us were dead, twisted bits of flesh. I worked with them for months, and I didn't even recognize them," He began to choke up. Dumbledore moved closer, reassuring Ollivander, but it still took several seconds for him to continue

"And for the rest of us, we had more subtle wounds. Vivira kept getting weaker, until she died in childbirth. Adeviar had to go back to curse breaking to avoid the stares, he was so scarred. Faris got paranoid, especially after Vivira passed away. He even sent Thenabar off to the muggles. Of course, that paid off in the end, so I can hardly criticize the decision. As for me, well, you know me. I barely even leave the shop nowadays," Ollivander said. "And the worst part is, we didn't even get anything for it. All that work, all that  _pain,_ and we got nothing."

**(Transition)**

All across the clearing, dead acromantulas littered the ground. Some of the fallen were stretching out new legs, blinking new eyes, moving with new purpose. These resurrected acromantulas were almost entirely ignored by the Hive. Each new member of the Hive waited but a moment before throwing themselves back in the fray. The survivors hadn't been faring well before, but now with former family and friends attacking them, they fell like leaves in a hurricane.

Even the rare few acromantula that fought without hesitation or gentleness against their fallen brethren were overpowered by sheer numbers. The only thing they gained was Abathur's notice. That ferocity could be a useful trait to spread.

"Defiler! You take my children, kill them, and deprive their flesh from the rest of us! Foul being! May you rot in the webs of Anu'barak!" Aragog cried, beyond mere rage by this point. He had begun to attack the Hive himself, but this would not prolong his independence.

From a human standpoint, Abathur could almost see this as amusing. These creatures, so self-important, so seemingly powerful, but brought to annihilation. A year ago, the acromantulas had held Abathur's life in their mandibles, but now, he had theirs. Before, they were nearly terrifying, a near unreachable goal. Now, when Abathur looked at them, all he could see was flaws, weaknesses, ways to improve. They seemed almost infinitesimally small.

Even the largest, Aragog as it called itself, was nothing more large, and old. Even as the elder acromantula slashed through his forces without mercy, Abathur saw a dozen ways to kill it. He took advantage of all of them. Aragog fell from his perch among the webs without fanfare, without glory. Just an empty shell of a being, at least until Abathur infested and improved it. These spiders, once so threatening, were now just pathetic.

**(Transition)**

"The aurors came after that, but they were sympathetic. We all kept in touch for awhile, but Vivira died, Faris was murdered, and Adeviar spends more time in Egypt than Britain. I'm not sure how that helps you, but when you mentioned strange occurrences and the Jarens..." Ollivander gave a half shrug. "I'm not sure how it helped, but I hope it did regardless."

"Thank you, Garrick. I know that couldn't have been easy to share," Dumbledore said.

"No, thank you for listening. I've been needing to get that off my chest for a while," Ollivander responded. He started to return to his work, bending down to pick up the dropped wand. Dumbledore was on his way out the door, only to turn back once he reached it.

"Are you absolutely certain that the ritual failed? That nothing was summoned?" he asked.

Ollivander furrowed his brow. "Certainly nothing tangible. The aurors found nothing but us at the scene. You should ask Adeviar though; he knows the ritual better than me."

Just as Dumbledore was about to close the door, Ollivander spoke up. "Albus, if we did succeed, somehow... be careful. If the ritual ended like that…"

Ollivander didn't seem to have the heart to finish that thought.

**(Transition)**

The formerly great web lay in ruins. Acromantula corpses littered the ground, with only the more intact ones rising again. The rest were used as food for the newly-born Zerg, useful in death as they had been in life. The battle was over. The only thing left was carnage, gore, and, of course, the beginning of Abathur's new brood.

The acromantula essence had promise that Abathur could use. And he intended to use that potential to its fullest. Given time and resources, he could grow them to a force that would almost compare to a true Zerg brood. He would evolve them, mutate them, make them great. He would them to new essence, weave it into their flesh and bone. Already, a dozen possibilities sprang forth for what he could do with them.

It was almost as though Abathur was home. Almost.

**(Transition)**

The itsy-bitsy spiders were living in the woods

Feasting on anything and everything they could

Then out came the master with blades of DNA

And now those little spiders serve the Swarm in every way

**Acromantulas: Giant spiders of the magical world, acromantulas are nightmare fuel for arachnophobes across the globe. Those gargantuan arachnids are believed to have been originally made by wizards, as a form of guardian for treasure or dwellings. Whatever their origins, Acromantulas have since bred and wandered, now inhabiting much of the rainforests of southeast Asia, although they have been spotted elsewhere. Acromantulas act much like more mundane spiders, weaving massive domed webs, and feasting on their prey with toxic venom and massive fangs. Unlike their smaller cousins, Acromantulas are known to be highly social, forming massive colonies in which the elder rules among their children. Acromantulas are every bit the nightmare that the term giant spiders suggest.**


	24. Web of Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Just to make sure, everyone reading this is aware, the likelihood of any of these events being remotely scientifically feasible is about the same as a giant ball of lard suddenly materializing above your head. Speaking of which, you may want to duck. Oh... yeah, you definitely should have ducked. Sorry about that. Also, I don't own or claim responsibility for any of this. Or the characters/world/etc. Except the Hive, that's my cute little bloodthirsty amoral baby.
> 
> **(I possess the munition for endless transitions, I'm filling and killing all these humorous traditions, I'm taking the shilling and faking its milling, to drive up inflation and give me the millions. This makes no sense, much like the half-penny, a form of currency we've removed since the 20s.)**
> 
> _Does this mean he's going to stop these silly rambles soon? I hope so…_
> 
> **(Hahahahahahahaha no)**
> 
> _A man can dream._

"Are you sure you won't be able to visit us this summer?" Hermione asked.

"Certain. Demanding schedule. Unable to alter." Abathur replied.

"That's what you said last year, and we didn't get even a single owl from you. Even Harry manages to keep in touch, and that Sirius Black and a crazy house elf on his back!" Ron said.

"Hey, Dobby isn't crazy," Harry interjected.

"He stole your mail, Harry," Ron said. "Hate to break it to you, but I think that makes him crazy."

Harry and Ron were pulled off into their own argument about the nature of house elf sanity. Hermione remained focused on Abathur.

"You know, if you're still angry with us, you don't have to make excuses. If you need time alone, that's fine," Hermione said.

"Am not angry," Abathur said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He made a note to enhance his prefrontal cortex again.

"Right," Hermione said. Abathur could see the skepticism written across her face and her mind. She was becoming disturbingly adept at reading him, as were the other two.

"Just...don't ignore us like last time, okay?" Hermione said.

"Acceptable," he said. She expected begrudging agreement.

"All right," Hermione said, before seeing her birthing pair. "I've got to go. I'll see you next year! Make sure to write!" And with that, she ran off, leaving Abathur alone at last. He waited for the rest of the station to empty of humans, before moving to an abandoned street corner. He took out his wand and raised it. After a few seconds a large purple bus appeared. Abathur stepped into it. A moment later, the bus vanished into the maze of concrete and steel.

Minutes later, the bus appeared in a forest and disgorged its passenger. A moment later, it vanished. Abathur stood alone in the forest. Seemingly at random, he picked a direction,and began to walk. He continued in a straight line for hours, never stopping and never straying. Abathur didn't stop until the last ray of light was gone, obscured by the cover above.

A dark purple carpet covered the ground, writhing and pulsing as if alive, mostly because it was. It had taken a lot of time to make the creep non-toxic to the local flora, but Abathur was willing to make sacrifices to keep his brood hidden, even at the cost of efficiency. The moment he stepped on to the living covering, Abathur seemed to glide across it. The remainder of his trip took only a few minutes.

His brood came out to greet him. The as of yet barely modified acromantula crawled along the webs and creep, scuttering around at a distance. Some even prostrated themselves when he passed. An ingrained submission response. He absently made a note to correct that as he continued forward, stepping into a small room made of silk. The walls were lined with transparent cocoons, filled with green fluid sheltering the larva within. As he entered, he tossed aside his writing supplies for the creep to consume. He had no use for them.

Once he was sure he was safe from sneaking terran eyes, he released himself from human flesh. A thick carapace grew all over his body, grey in color, and covered with a snake scale pattern. The occasional bristling hair poked out, vibrating in time with his steps. His back limbs emerged from behind him and came to rest over his shoulders. A mask of scale covered his face, hiding everything save for his nearly green eyes.

It was time to begin his work.

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore enjoyed the peace of the castle during the summer. His stroll around the grounds was a marvelous way to relax after such a strenuous year. The sky was a gorgeous blue. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming. On days like this, children should be-

_HOOOONNNNNKKKKK_

Suddenly, the loud sound of a half-giant blowing his nose erupted across the idyllic scene, followed by a loud sobbing noise. That was never a good sign. Hagrid was rarely upset that seriously, but it often took quite a bit to calm him down when he was. Dumbledore turned towards Hagrid's hut. He stepped in front of the door and knocked three times. Dumbledore heard a chair shifting, then a few heavy footsteps accompanied by sniffling. A moment later, the door was opened by a red-eyed Hagrid.

"Oh, hello Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said

"Hagrid, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Albus? You're a professor yourself now, after all," Dumbledore replied.

"Can't do that, just wouldn' be proper," Hagrid said, still sniffling.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. If Hagrid was still feeling up to having this old argument, there was still hope. It was when Hagrid simply didn't care about such things that Dumbledore truly needed to worry.

"What's seems to be the matter, my old friend?" he asked, stepping around the title. He was not prepared for the deluge of tears that followed.

"Aragog's dead! *sniff* My oldest friend 'e was, I raised him from an egg! *sniff* And now, now he's-" Hagrid choked down a sob, before continuing in a quieter tone, "He's jus'  _gone."_

Dumbledore patted Hagrid on the shoulder as comfortingly as he could. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I'm sure Aragog is in a better place now." He wasn't quite sure who Aragog was, but that didn't matter.

"No, he isn't. The other acromantula ate 'im before I could get his body and put him in the ground properly," Hagrid's tears resumed, but at least Dumbledore remembered who Aragog was. How long had it been since the first time the chamber was opened? Still, he didn't know their relationship well. It would be better to listen then comment. Hagrid sat in his massive chair.

"His kids won't even let me close now. Put up wards along the edges, smart buggers. Aragog was always a great teacher," Hagrid said.

A chill ran down Dumbledore's spine. "Hagrid, are you absolutely sure that Aragog is dead? Did you see his body?" he asked.

Hagrid blinked. "Well, no, but he always made sure the little 'uns never went after me. They wouldn't attack me if he was still 'round."

"Have the acromantulas ever used wards before?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not that I've seen, but-"

"Hagrid, did you happen to see an unusual number of ants around the acromantula colony?"

A slow look of realization spread across Hagrid's face. "Professor, you think those ants, what're they called... them recruiter ants, that's it, they got to Aragog?"

"I do." Dumbledore said. "I can't imagine that this is merely a coincidence, especially with these new wards the acromantulas seem to have developed overnight. My friend, I'm afraid this bodes ill for us all."

The recruiter ants had come to Hogwarts. Dumbledore's mind raced, wondering how and why, before he settled on the far more important matter of what precisely he was going to need to do to keep the castle safe. He would need to check with the centaurs, of course. They usually kept the acromantulas in check. After that, he would see what he could do on his end. Hopefully, whatever measures he took would prove unnecessary, but Dumbledore would not gamble with fate. If there was something he needed to do, then it would be done.

**(Transition)**

Two centaurs creft through the forest armed with bows and blades. They were careful to stay hidden, never moving into the light and taking care not to step on a small branches or dry leaves. Their stealth would almost have been impressive if Abathur hadn't been tracking them since the moment they stepped on his creep. A thousand Hive eyes were following the centaurs' every move.

There weren't enough for this to be an attack. They were moving too deliberately to be lost. And they were too cautious to be unaware of the threat his brood posed. The two were either scouts or messengers. Soon, he would know which was the case.

Abathur began moving himself closer to the unwitting pair, still clad in his true form. Creep and webs let him move far faster than a mere set of hooves. In a matter of minutes, both Abathur and an escort of baseline acromantulas had moved themselves between the duo and his colony. The acromantulas burrowed beneath the surface, but Abathur stood tall in the centaur's path. The two immediately took notice. Two bows were lifted in unison, drawn and nocked, before being pointed at Abathur. Their shock and fear at his appearance was felt as a shockwave from their minds. Abathur wasn't entirely able to suppress the pleasure he felt from that.

"State purpose," Abathur said.

"We have no business with you, creature. We come to meet with the leader of the acromantulas. You will step out of our way, or we shall make you," the larger of the two said. Abathur assumed they used muscle mass as a substitute for leadership. That seemed to be common among less developed species.

"Am here. State purpose," Abathur said.

The smaller centaur scoffed at him. "You are not Aragog. You're not even an acromantula. Do not waste our time with pathetic jokes," he said.

Abathur blinked. His escort burst out of the ground in an instant, venom dripping from their fangs, and abdomens filled with web. They chittered excitedly as the centaurs staggered back in delicious fear. The centaurs nervously eyed the massive spiders, bows still drawn and ready.

"State purpose," Abathur repeated. This time, the centaurs were not so dismissive.

"We have come to meet with Aragog," The first centaur began, but stopped as the acromantula's chittering grew louder. "Or whoever has replaced him," he amended quickly. "We seek to inform...you...that we will still enforce the terms of our treaty. Regardless of any change in leadership, you may not expand past your current borders, or we will force you to keep to them."

The chittering grew louder. The acromantulas started to move forward, fangs posed at the ready. They seemed ready to leap upon the centaurs and tear them apart piece by piece. The centaur's tightened their grip on their bows. Abathur lifted an arm. His escort fell back in line.

"Terms acceptable," he said. "Will not expand while centaurs forbid it."

The centaur pair looked almost surprised at the simple acknowledgement Abathur had give them. They glanced at the trees around, as if searching for an ambush. They wouldn't find one. The only acromantula nearby were standing right behind Abathur, and he was keeping them in line, with a small amount of difficulty. Their independence was quickly becoming an issue. He might need to remove that later, after he dealt with this new development.

Their mission, concluded, the centaurs turned and ran back towards where they came. Abathur moved himself and his escort back to the colony absentmindedly. His focus was on the ant clinging to the larger centaurs hoof, the bees tracking them through the air, the worms following beneath the earth, and the dozen other spies he had following the duo. Abathur had meant what he said. He would not risk expanding with an unknown threat on the horizon. But if the centaurs ceased to be a threat, that wouldn't be an issue, would it?

The centaurs arrived at what Abathur assumed was their main dwelling. Abathur dispersed his spies and positioned them around their dwelling. First, observation. Abathur could wait patiently as he prepared for the annihilation of this new threat.

**(Transition)**

**Devourer: While now largely discontinued, devourers are fearsome starfighters, specializing in taking down heavily armored craft with toxic spores. Devourers often served as the main anti-air force of Zerg forces, before being replaced by the squid-like corruptor. Abathur's personal brood is one of the few that continue the growth of devourers, along with their counterpart, Guardians. Devourers are evolved from mutalisks, and bear a great deal of resemblance to their precursors, despite being much more bulky. They have the a curved body, large wings, and a weaponized tail. Unlike their base form, devourers launch acid in spores that stick to their targets, gradually weakening their armor and decreasing their attack capabilities. Unfortunately, devourers are neither fast nor maneuverable. Their lack of speed often means they have difficulty getting to combat, but when they do arrive, devastation reigns supreme.**


	25. Celestial Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I admit, I've been lying to all of you this whole time. This is not fiction. This is nothing but fact! All will bow before the Swarm! All shall be devoured! Resistance is futile! Okay, my beta has just slapped me. He says that everything you just read is complete and utter bullshit. There is, apparently, no Zerg swarm ready to kill all of us, the science in this fic is dubious at best, and apparently I don't own any of it it. Well, that's disappointing.
> 
> **(These have been getting really long, so, in the future, I'm likely going to turn (a.k.a. transition) this into a smaller interlude (also called a transition) to the main story, instead of a full paragraph)**
> 
> _I'm so lost, I couldn't even find the bloody chapter. *mutters about school years and blatantly misleading authorial directions*_
> 
> **(And lack of context)**

To Abathur, the ability of a creature to move around underneath the ground was nothing less than essential. When he had first chosen the ants to infest, the ability to tunnel and burrow had been one of the ants' most attractive features, in his eye. The utility of disappearing into the ground, the capacity to move unseen was useful in the extreme, and he had taken care to apply the mutation to every Zerg strain he could, as well as most of the Hive strains. The sheer versatility offered by a tunneling soldier or worker was just so delightful, especially in the more specialized strains. So few species paid attention to what lurked beneath their feet, until it came out to bite them. Whether growing subterranean acid mines, hiding volatile banelings, or covering a lurker's deadly spines, the underground battlefield had proven useful again, and again, and again. Here, a similar strategy would no doubt prove highly effective.

The spies he had sent after the centaur messengers had established a small colony near their target. Reinforcements had been quickly funneled through the worm-burrowed tunnels. As soon as the colony had grown enough, they moved directly underneath the centaur's tunneled beneath the dwelling, leaving intricate patterns in their wake. When the worms lay to rest, Abathur pushed his own energy into the finished runes. They pulsed with power as his psionics flowed through the tunnels, filling the markings. The second the last rune filled with energy, they all activated. Every trace of the Hive was eradicated. Tunnel entrances were obscured, insects were covered in illusion, and within seconds the colony was all but undetectable to the naked eye.

Abathur distributed Hive agents across the centaur's dwelling, and they watched every move the centaurs made. He knew every word the centaurs said, hut wherein they dwelt, every path they tread. Abathur saw anything and everything.

Abathur was nowhere near ready to attack just yet. But for now he could watch, he could learn, and he could prepare. The centaurs would have absolutely no idea what was coming. Not until it was far too late.

**(Transition)**

Abathur considered human interaction, and the Hogwarts Express in particular, to be the absolute worst part of his imprisonment. It was just so inefficient! They talked and talked about meaningless topics, expecting him to be  _involved,_ to  _contribute_. Every time Abathur was forced to spend long periods of time in the company of humans, he found it that much harder to keep himself from just killing them all. Abathur could spend this time working on new strains, testing new runes or sequences, or literally anything other than entertaining terran whelps. But no, human society demanded interaction. And if Abathur didn't conform, then his most important defense was gone, and he would be forced to fend off the all of humanity with nothing but a few overgrown arachnids.

None of that made it any less torturous, merely mind-numbingly necessary. It was hard to even form a coherent thought with all of the meaningless tripe spouting endlessly from his camouflage and the other random humans in the compartment . Abathur had withdrawn from the conversation as much as he could, but even he had to respond occasionally. More of his time and focus was on the Rune book in his lap. This year, apparently, contained more interesting runes, the kind that could do more than form a simple shield, useful as that ability was. He was doing his very best to focus on these new concepts, despite the constant distractions.

The one he was currently working on was one intended to isolate intruders in individual cages, and it was eating up most of his attention. Abathur was so distracted that he barely noticed the small blonde terran until she sat right next to him, and leaned over his notes.

"You know, if you switch the eihwaz and the gragar, it takes a lot less power," she said.

Abathur paid no attention to her. She had joined their compartment soon after the train left the station for reasons he found unimportant, and was beneath his notice. Terran minds would tell him nothing he wasn't aware of already.

The human, unfortunately kept watching him anyway. Abathur didn't feel any hostility or suspicion, so he let her be for now, and continued to work on his runes. The only problem that Abathur couldn't seem to get around was the power requirement, and the definition of the area of effect. However he defined the effect, the drain would be greater than what either he or the ambient energy could provide. He could fix the issue by shifting the distribution, but to do that he would have to...replace eihwaz with gragar.

Abathur looked at the blonde terran, examining her closely. Both her essence and her mind showed nothing but pathetic humanity, and yet, she had known the solution before he had figured out the problem. That shouldn't have been possible, not with the weakness of terran essence. Could it have just been chance?

Abathur put the matter out of his mind, and focused on the next sequence. This one would ideally suppress all sensory organs, assuming he could make it work. The only real issue seemed to be the ansuz.. For some reason, it wasn't working as intended; perhaps he could-

"You don't want ansuz there, you should move it over there, and add ledig," the terran interrupted him again, pointing at the very section Abathur had just been examining.

Abathur's eyes snapped to the human's face, examining her closely. There was nothing to indicate inhumanity, yet she had known what to do before he had. How could that happen?

"Proficiency with Runes, great. Youth, species, poor for exercise. Explain discrepancy," Abathur said. Almost as soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back. That was too  _blunt_ for most humans and their illogical conversation rules.

To his surprise, the blonde terran took the remark in stride."My father runs the Quibbler, and he lets me help with the Rune puzzles. Though I suspect he just doesn't like going through the rune books. They often get infested with nargles, and he has quite enough trouble with them already. Why did you put vernos next to obscurus?"

"Sends effect to nervous system. Direct, hard to defend against. Minimal complexity. Efficient," Abathur replied.

"That's funny," the blonde said. "Most people would just use sowilo for power, then some sort of binding rune. Or maybe even thurisaz, with its loose connection to lightning, but your way is much better." She regarded him in an odd manner. Even with the boggart's sensory organs, he wasn't quite sure what she was thinking. "Have you ever been bitten by a gnome?" she asked suddenly.

The question caught Abathur off guard. "Unlikely. Have not participated in combat recently."

The blonde human stared at Abathur in that odd manner again. Then, without even drawing breath she asked, "Have you considered using teramor opposite yerta and aten?"

Abathur considered it. "Possible. More complex, but same intent. Would reduce error. Useful. Ineffective without defined target. Replace yerta with siexda, more flexible? Must experiment."

Their discussion continued for nearly an hour, until the train arrived at Hogsmeade. The blonde human had some interesting ideas, even if they were generally more simple than Abathur would use himself. He would have to investigate the effects of integrating her ideas into his own work, they were surprisingly unique.

The blonde's emotions colored with a hint of joy as she stood up to exit the compartment. "Do tell me how your experiments go, Abathur. I'd like to know how they go. You think of the most fascinating things."

Abathur wasn't quite sure what to make of that. It took him several hours to realize that this had been the first conversation with a terran where he hadn't wanted to massacre everyone involved.

**(Transition)**

After leaving the opening feast, Abathur didn't even bother going to the Slytherin dormitories. The only reason he ever visited them in the first place was to keep up appearances, and he would much rather spend his night doing something useful. Fortunately, it was almost trivial to sneak into the Forest after dark, and from there he made his way to his colonies, clad once more in his more comfortable, transformed state. The acromantulas knew what he had planned, the ritual that had taken place almost every night since their assimilation. All other tasks had been completed before now.

The spiders gathered on the soft, moonlit creep. They covered every available surface, some even standing on each other. They had begun to vary greatly in size and shape; Abathur was only a few generations away from distinct strains. The Hive crawled underfoot, their multitudes all crowded into the single clearing. Their minds were open to Abathur, and he pulled from them. Their energy, their presence, all of it was funnelled into him. He gathered it around his own essence, and then  _pushed_.

Boosted by the power of his brood, Abathur's mind stretched far into the reaches of the night sky, reaching for the familiar lights he had lived by, years ago. Almost immediately, he heard the whispers, the sounds of the devouring Swarm. Abathur moved towards it, reaching desperately, but his reach did not extend any farther. He desperately clawed forward, attempting to reach the massive entity, to gain its attention, but he received no response. He simply didn't have the power.

With the now familiar ache of disappointment, Abathur released the minds of his brood, and had them resume their work. Their numbers were still too few for him to be noticed by the Swarm. Even after months of attempted communication, he still did not have the forces required. It was almost as if there was still some critical factor, some missing puzzle piece that he needed for this to work. Abathur had no idea what it could be, but he would not let the lack of it stop him. He could be patient.

If he had to wait for years, if he needed to recreate leviathans from scratch, to harvest every scrap of biomass on the planet, to assimilate everything and raze the rest, then he would. Abathur would not be denied his reunion.

**(Transition)**

_Guardian:_ _Guards shit. 'Nuff said. ~f_

_(Apparently they don't even guard shit. My life is a lie.)_

**Guardian: The long ranged bomber of the Swarm, guardians had long served as the siege weapons of the Zerg, before being largely replaced by the largely superior brood lord. Also evolved from the mutalisk, they resemble a large flat, fleshy sheet with degenerated claws at its front. A guardian's main weapon is an acidic spore, effectively a bomb, which is used to heavily damage land-based targets. While incredibly effective in air-to-ground combat, guardians are essentially useless in space-borne fights, and need to be escorted by air to air fighters in order to not be killed off. Guardians have been largely replaced by brood lords as the bomber of Zerg fleets. Only Abathur's brood continues to produce guardians, with the exception of a few primal zerg strains. While they are undeniably powerful, guardians have become somewhat obsolete with the creation of the brood lord, making them an asset of preference, rather than necessity.**


	26. Building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Science is defiance of existence by means of organizing resistance of all established reality by means of logic and particularity. This is not that, so don't depend on it to write your essays. If you do that, you're screwed, and no, not in the fun way. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Transitiooooonnnnnn, transition! Transitiooooooonnn, transition! What? Yes, I already used this Fiddler on the Roof reference. So what? Look, you try coming up with 26 jokes about transitions and see how far you get. I dare you.)**
> 
> _Or you could admit defeat, and just stop. ~f_

Thane stood in the center of his clearing, gazing up at the night sky. His face pointed straight up, examining the night sky with an experienced eye. To someone who did not know him, the centaur elder appeared to be completely unaware of the world around him. Milano, however, knew better. Thane was perfectly aware of him, and when he wanted to talk to Milano, then he would let him know.

After a few minutes, Thane spoke, without looking away from the stars. "Are you going to continue to wait over there like a newborn foal, or are you going to ask whatever question is burning you up, Milano?"

Milano stepped forward. "Who says I have any questions for you, Thane? Perhaps I simply wish to enjoy the piece of the meadow?"

Thane snorted. "No one ever bothers me unless they want something. Nobody has any patience for me unless they have patience for my answers. Now stop being coy, and tell me what's burning you up so much," he said.

Milano took a deep breath. "What is that... thing leading the acromantulas?" he said after a moment of hesitation. "Have you ever heard of anything like it?"

"You were one of the ones sent to talk to them, weren't you," Thane said. It wasn't a question. "What do you think?"

"He...it, was dismissive," Milano said, thinking back to his brief encounter with the creature. "I felt as if was only just paying attention to us, just sizing us up for the kill."

"So it was an acromantula," Thane said impatiently. "What made this one so special?"

"Whatever that thing was, it wasn't an acromantula. It was different. It stood on two legs, and it talked without a rasp. In some ways, it looked more like an ant than a spider," Milano elaborated.

"By the sound of Pan's flute!" Thane exclaimed. "Albus Dumbledore must have been right about the acromantulas, then. Those ants have taken over the colony. That is unfortunate, but not unexpected. We should still be able to deal with them."

"I wish I could be so sure," Milano said. "That thing could have killed us. Everything I know about acromantulas told me it should. But it just let us go!"

Thane finally looked down towards Milano. His distress from just thinking about the creature was written plainly on his face. Thane sighed.

"I wish I could tell you there's nothing to worry about. But even the stars, from Alpha Centauri to Tarsonis, scream of nothing but spiders. There is something brewing here, that much is obvious," Thane said somberly. Seeing that Milano had panicked even more from this, he added. "But we will emerge victorious. As long as our gaze is to the stars, and we listen to what they say, the acromantulas have nothing we cannot know."

Unnoticed by either of them, an ant scurried away from the clearing, hidden by the blades of grass beneath their hooves.

**(Transition)**

Abathur no longer sat at the Slytherin table during meals. Instead he chose to sit with the human, who he had learned was called Luna, at the Ravenclaw table. It was much more efficient to take in biomass and discuss runes at the same time. Luna almost always had some idea, whether through familiarity with tradition, or her own, far more interesting innovations. Abathur nearly considered harvesting her essence; she clearly had some trait that gave her an advantage over the average human. It more than made up for her habit of spinning off on random tangents. Fortunately, today's discussion had been quite productive so far.

"Possible to add dubar to activation sequence?" Abathur pointed to a dense square of runes linked to a larger set lower on the food-stained paper.

"I guess that could work, but why would you do that?" Luna said as she peered at the rune scheme.

"Would allow for greater effect. More power in activation," he said.

"No, because that would send too much power into that cluster and blow up the whole thing." Luna said. "Do you think the easter bunny is actually a platypus?" Productivity had been nice while it lasted.

"Unsure of difference. Variation, relevant?" he asked.

"The easter bunny is the one that hides eggs all over the world for children to find, but platypi are the only mammals that actually lay eggs, so it seems like they would be much better suited for it. Maybe the muggles who saw it didn't know the difference?" Luna pondered.

Abathur considered the question. "Single organism, unable to provide necessary amount of eggs. Harvesting eggs of others, greater reward. Simpler, more efficient."

"That's a good point. Where is the easter bunny getting all these eggs?" Luna thought out loud.

Abathur tried to think of a way to redirect the conversation back towards a more productive topic. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of any. Once Luna started on a random theory, Abathur had yet to be able to stop her. Even with his emotional insight, almost all attempts Abathur had made to predict or manipulate Luna had failed completely and utterly.

Abathur idly let out his senses, determined to squeeze something out of the undoubtedly long explanation. Almost immediately, he had to stop himself from transforming. The sheer amount of hostility in his vicinity shocked him.

"Maybe the rabbit is holding all the platypi as slaves, and forcing them to lay eggs for him to hide all over the world. And the reason that all the platypi people ever see are all in Australia, is because the easter bunny has never, in recorded history, been to Australia!" Luna exclaimed triumphantly. "It all makes sense!"

Abathur had felt hostility from humans before. There were others, students suspicious or hostile towards him. He had been sure to avoid them as much as possible, and fortunately, nothing had ever come from them. But this was far more than he was used to.

"But why Australia? What makes the easter bunny avoid it so much? Aside from the absurd number of dangerous creatures, there's nothing there that would keep the easter bunny away. Unless..."

Even more surprising, most of it wasn't directed at him. Almost all of the enmity was directed towards Luna, growing even as she continued to speak. How could that be?

"The platypus have an organization, maybe without a cool acronym, filled with secret agents all around the world, all for the purpose of defending Australia from the easter bunny, with all his evil inventions and insane number of backstories. How are the platypi able to stay this organized, and this formidable?"

Luna was a terran, he was sure of that, even if she was different from the others. So the animosity couldn't be because of inhumanity. Not unless... Much of the reign of the second Queen of Blades was spent fighting against one specific faction of the terrans, the Dominion, and she even went out of her way to avoid attacking those not part of the Dominion. Why had there been such a divide among a single species to begin with? The zerg had been split by external trife, the protoss were united, but what about the humans?

"Maybe this organization has branches in Muggle governments, and they recruit all kinds of animals to fight for them. They could even build robot owners with super advanced technical skills to distract anyone looking into them from their 'pet'. Then they could track the easter bunny all over the world!"

A chilling thought struck Abathur. Humans might not accept variation even within their own species. They were actively stalling their own evolution, suppressing traits that could be beneficial to the species, rejecting them. No wonder their essence was so pathetic, if this was how they treated evolution!

"But the platypi are still trapped in Australia, so they can't be making much progress. It's almost as if, any time the battle goes one way or the other, some ridiculous circumstances just set everything back to where they started!"

Well, if the terrans weren't going to take advantage of the traits within their own genepool, they could hardly complain if someone else laid claim to them.

"But that situation couldn't be very stable. One way or another the tide would tip. Really, something like that could only last a summer, at most. I'll have to tell daddy about this before it over!" Luna finished.

Not to mention Luna had very useful insight of this planet. "Interesting. Look forward to reading."

Especially if these platypi were as dangerous as she said. That could be very, very useful, assuming he could find this Australia place.

"Thanks, Abathur. You're the only one who's actually interested in these stories," Luna said, smiling.

**(Transition)**

Abathur perched himself in the webs stretched overlooking his developing Hive cluster. He had finally finished work on a centralized reproductive system, a living structure that could steadily produce eggs to morph into whatever strain he needed. It was no hatchery, and definitely not producing larva worthy of the Swarm, but it would do for now. The newly dubbed ritholisks wandered around and rooted themselves into the resource rich creep, drawing in resources to create the eggs of the next generation of slowly evolving Acromantula.

Considering what he had to work with, Abathur was very proud of the final result. The ritholisks had a much wider base than the base acromantulas, with legs and eyes distributed evenly in a ring along their dome like bodies. They were massive, more than twice the height and width of Aragog. An orifice on their top spat out the eggs, where they rolled down onto the creep, or onto the sticky coating covering their carapace. Mobility was a necessity with his position still so tenuous. This way they could move at a moments notice, taking their young with them. With a bit more work, they may serve as primitive swarm hosts, albeit ones with a much lower rate of birth, but the stored eggs should compensate for that.

But the ritholisks themselves weren't the most important part. It was their eggs. Abathur now had a reliable means of creating more test subjects, more things to experiment on, without fear of running out. That meant more experiments, more progress, more evolution, and that he was getting closer and closer to not having to hide.

Already, eggs were beginning to cover the ground as Abathur built up his production, begging to grow or to be experimented upon. With this supply, new strains would be ready very, very soon. Then he could begin a more effective method of evolution.

Evolution by force.

**(Transition)**

**Scourge: The aptly named baneling of the sky, scourges bring massive amounts of destruction to any fleet foolish enough to come too close. Blind, living bombs, a single scourge is capable of annihilating a smaller ship, while swarms of them are known to destroy massive capital ships in an instant. Scourge have many different means of growth, and their role has changed a great deal since their original development. Scourge were originally spawned two to a larva, much like zerglings, but have since been produced by specialized nests, or as living missiles from a leviathan. More recently, they have been phased out of most broods in favor of the more reliable corruptors and vipers. Zagara remains one of the few zerg who regularly employs scourges in her forces. Despite their lack of staying power, scourges are powerful weapons, catalysts to moments of unparalleled destruction.**


	27. Elimination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The developments of AI that have been so celebrated recently are the culmination of decades of work and research. Catalyst is the culmination of me having nothing to do in the summer, then not stopping. Personally, I think Catalyst is the more impressive of the two. Still not science though. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(If the Earth detonated its molten core, it would either incinerate all of us in a fireball of ash and lava, or leave us to die in the cold, unfeeling vacuum of space. But for a moment, a brief, insignificant moment, we would witness the most glorious explosion in all of human history. That moment, that one single moment before complete annihilation, but after the chain reaction has started, that glorious instant would be called...a transition.)**
> 
> _Actually, I think that the sun going nova will be far more impressive...not to mention actually probable. ~f_

"Entry, bad. Lying, worse. Unacceptable," Abathur said to an increasingly distressed Harry.

"You have to believe me! I didn't enter myself into the tournament," Harry cried. Abathur didn't care to hear Harry's excuses. He didn't care that Harry was in the tournament to begin with, either. He didn't care if it was intentional or a plot. The only reason he cared at all was that it was a convenient excuse to split off from the trio.

"Abathur's right. Harry, if you were going to enter, you could have let us have a chance too. You shouldn't have kept it secret from us," Ron said. An unexpected, but welcome addition. If he wasn't the only one splitting away, that would remove suspicion from him.

"I can't believe you two!" Hermione said. "Do you honestly believe Harry would put his own life at risk?"

"Yes. Has repeatedly. Regular occurrence," Abathur said.

Hermione flushed. "Ok, fair point. But do you really believe he would do it for something like money or glory?"

"Of course! Who wouldn't?" Ron said.

"Ron, I didn't enter myself," Harry protested.

Ron stared at Harry. "I wouldn't have minded if you wanted to enter. But why didn't you tell me about it? Why not let me have a chance?"

"Ron..."

"No, I should have seen this coming. After all, what's a little more glory for the Boy-Who-Lived?" With that, Ron stormed off.

Abathur followed close behind, but took a different path soon after. He made sure to stay far away from Ron. All things considered, that had gone perfectly. With luck, he'd never have to see any of those three again.

**(Transition)**

Abathur's brood moved through the woods in a nightmarish procession of poisoned fangs and hairy legs. In all shapes and sizes, his soldiers advanced across the creep that marked their domain. Today, he went to war.

The acromantula essence was finally filling the niches demanded in any large-scale conflict. It was about time for their first test, a way to apply stressors. Flaws would be revealed, and with them, potential. At long last, it was time to strike.

His attack force was approaching the centaur colony, passing unseen by the sentries. Abathur made no effort to keep his troops hidden. Why bother when the Hive-made ward took care of it for him? Within a minute, his entire force was settled inside the centaurs' defensive line.

The acromantulas moved unseen among the centaurs. Some of the centaurs walked around the massive spiders without so much as a glance. The notice-me-not ward was still functioning perfectly, preventing the centaurs from perceiving any member of the Swarm. The scene was almost surreal. Abathur could have marched his army straight through their little dwelling without a moment of conflict.

The illusion lasted right until an arachnolisk stabbed its blade through a centaur's chest. It was one of the larger strains, boasting a large set of scimitar-like blades on their front limbs, with a secondary set mounted to their mouth. Frontline brawlers. Effective, if not particularly unique.

The centaurs panicked as the ward failed, and the acromantulas appeared in their midst. Abathur made the most of their confusion, sending forth the teralings. Their streamlined frame and webbed-together limbs made them fast, and gave them the ability to glide through the air, making them ideal pursuers. Individually they were weak, but their numbers made up for that. This combined with their speed allowed them to tear many of the centaurs apart before they even had a chance to react.

The centaurs scattered. Some ducked into huts, only to return wielding bows and spears. The rest fled into the woods. There, they ran into the splicers. Splicers had swollen abdomens leading to a narrow head, all mounted on thick, imapling legs. Abathur had rooted them into the trees and ground surrounding the centaurs clearing. They contracted their abdomens, launching the venom in a powerful stream. The streams rammed straight through the centaurs, killing or poisoning each of their targets.

The centaurs had almost finished removing their non-combatants from the center of their colony, away from the zerg horde. The remaining few were running away as fast as they could. A small centaur, leaking from its eyes, stood paralyzed in the middle of the acromantula's path. Abathur idly ordered an arachnolisk to cut its head off.

A burst of panic pulled his attention to the edges of the forest. The centaurs had gathered on one front, and were making an attempt to push back the splicers. Even armed with only spears and arrows, they were surprisingly difficult to kill. They dodged each venomous stream with uncanny timing. If Abathur didn't know better, he would assume that they had something coordinating their movements, some overlord equivalent. Something he himself needed to create. Their dodges were supernaturally fluid, moving even before the splicer began to fire. That was interesting; Abathur would be sure to examine their corpses thoroughly. He diverted more of his splicers to the battlefront.

Even with all their grace, the centaurs had their limits, and with more and more jets to dodge, the centaurs began to fall, one by one. Crossing streams of venom left no room to escape. The splicers had nothing to fear from their primitive wooden weapons, Abathur had made sure of that. They had all the time in the world to learn how to track the hybrids.

Abathur sent the arachnolisks and the teralings behind the last fighting group. For all that they could dodge jets of venom, they had no defense against the massive wall of blades and fangs rushing at them.

With no warning, two splicers on the opposite end of the colony died. A pair of centaur warriors had snuck behind and sunk their blades deep into their skulls, right into the brain stem. All of a sudden, Abathur had a gap in his perimeter. Centaurs rushed past, nimbly dodging the splicer's crossfire.

Abathur was shocked. The centaurs had been a decoy, drawing his forces away. They had sacrificed their lives just to let the others escape. It was cold, it was effective, and it was for the good of the whole. It was remarkably  _zerg_. If he'd possessed lips at that moment, Abathur would have smiled. They were going to be excellent stressors.

That didn't mean he was going to let them get away with this. Abathur left the arachnolisks and splicers behind to finish off the decoys. If the centaurs were willing to sacrifice themselves, he would be more than happy to make sure they paid the price. The teralings were sent after the fleeing group.

The small spiders ran up to the top of the trees. They spread their legs and leapt off, letting the thin flesh between their legs spread and catch the air beneath them. The teralings glided through the maze of trees, pursuing the escaped centaurs. They moved through air, trees, and dirt with equal ease. It took little time for them to catch sight of the newly minted refugees.

Abathur concentrated the teralings at the centaurs' escape path. With a wild screech, they leapt down, slashing with their fangs. They were met with a wall of arrows launched from the centaurs' bows. The stone arrow tips were deflected, but the momentum knocked the teralings off-course. They fell to the side of the centaurs path. Another volley of arrows was launched, and this time, the teralings felt it. Arrows launched into eyes or open mouths, penetrated deep inside them, crippling the teralings if not outright killing them. The survivors attacked before the archers could launch another, and tore into the centaurs. Within minutes, the last of them had been brought down by venom and fang.

There were far fewer bodies than Abathur had expected. The centaur colony had been sizable, and the group he had just intercepted was too small, even with the decoys and the slaughter in their main dwelling. There should be more here unless... this was another decoy. They'd pulled the same tactic twice! Oh, this was excellent. Eliminating these centaurs would be very productive.

**(Transition)**

For some reason, Luna had decided that Abathur needed to learn about all the creatures she and her father chased after in their spare time.

"And that's all we know about the Crumple-horned Snorkack for now, but I'm sure once we find them, we can learn so much more!" Luna said excitedly. She had been telling him about many of the creatures her and her progenitor had been searching for, many of which Abathur found fascinating.

"Interesting," Abathur said. He meant it. The creature may not have essence immediately useful to him, but the fact that it had remained hidden for so long meant it worth at least a glance. "Have heard of similarly elusive creatures. Very difficult to find."

"Really? Like what?" Luna asked, her interest peaked. Abathur felt nothing but genuine curiosity.

"Zerg Swarm."

Despite his own countermeasures, every single stress-related neuron started firing in Abathur's head the instant he said those two, fatal words. In the wrong scenario, those words would get him killed.

Luna, oblivious to this, asked, "What's that?"

Abathur forced down his anxiety. This test was essential; the potential reward was far greater than the risk. "Hive mind. Collective consciousness. Share mind, purpose. Adapts to needs of leader."

"So there's no individuals?" Luna asked.

"No. Certain members, important. Sentient. Broodmothers, cerebrates, evolution master. Also command swarm, serve leader," Abathur replied.

"What's the difference between them?" Luna seemed to be mildly interested, but not particularly invested. Better than attempting to kill him.

"Cerebrate, Broodmothers, military leaders. Control armies, direct growth. Numerous. Evolution master, unique. Brood of one. Serves to evolve swarm."

` "What do you mean, evolve? How do they do that?" Luna asked.

"Take in essence. Contained within creatures, consumed and applied elsewhere. Modified to fulfill purpose. Constant adaptation," Abathur explained.

Luna considered this for a moment. Abathur could almost see the wheels turning in her head. All of a sudden, her eyes locked onto Abathur, and her mind became filled with a sensation of dawning realization. He almost panicked then and there. Then, Luna spoke.

"Does that mean if they find a crumple-horned snorkack, they could make infinite snorkacks?" Luna asked, eyes wide.

That did not go where he expected. "Possibly...?" Abathur said, hesitantly.

If Abathur wasn't sure it was completely impossible, he would have sworn Luna's eyes were sparkling. "Abathur, you know what this means, right?"

"...Unclear," Abathur said.

"We have to find the snorkacks, then the Zerg, and make an army of snorkacks and conquer the Ministry. We'll stop their heliopath army right in its tracks!" Luna exclaimed.

This was far beyond Abathur's expectations. Luna was taking the idea of the Swarm with enthusiasm, already coming up with military applications of other creatures, plans to assimilate them, and possible uses. She really was the ideal candidate for infestation.

**(Transition)**

**Brood queen:** One day, Elizabeth was feeling a bit...broody. So her friend Hezebetha called her, "Elizabeth, Brood Queen of the British Isles." Now, she's just referred to as the "Brood Queen," despite not being all that broody, on a normal day. Or even a queen. She's literally just some random chick named Elizabeth. She's not even British, but her friend has a really weird sense of humor, and the name stuck. ~f

**(Like a fungal growth, which conveniently leads us into** _**actual** _ **brood queens)**

How convenient indeed. I was definitely leading us there on purpose, and I also know what a Brood Queen is. Totally. ~f

**Brood Queen: To one familiar with the current incarnation of the Zerg Swarm, the brood queen, sometimes simply called the queen, would appear to possess a mixture of different abilities from many varying strains. In fact, the brood queen is the predecessor to many of those strains. A versatile flying support strain, the brood queen is capable of unleashing hell on the Swarm's enemies. Among its wide arsenal is the ability to spawn a pair of broodlings, an ability eventually given to the brood lord. A brood queen can also ensnare enemies, slowing and revealing all opponents in a moderate radius, an ability that eventually became the fungal growth of the infestor. Brood queens also served as the Swarm's chief infestors, commonly taking over terran command centers on the battlefield, enslaving them to the Swarm's will. Brood queens produce creep tumors and ocular symbiotes, which latch onto their targets, and allows the swarm to see through their eyes. Brood queens were eventually modified into the modern, land-based queens, which are in the role of caring for and defending hatcheries. The only remaining brood queens are in the service of the infested admiral Alexei Stukov, or aimlessly wandering in feral broods.**


	28. The Infested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm sorry guys. After 6 months straight of writing Catalyst, I'm just burned out. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm afraid I have to cancel the story. If anyone wants to adopt it, let me know. Also let me know if I should have saved this joke for April fools, because JK I'M GOING ALL THE WAY TO THE END. FOR ANOTHER 6 MONTHS! FOR SCIENCE! FOR THE SWARM! Also, don't own it.
> 
>  
> 
> **(Has anyone ever noticed that if you rearrange the letters in transition, you get "Iran, tits on"? Just a thought.)**
> 
>  
> 
> _I'm going to be honest, I hadn't noticed that. Also, I just want to say that most of the people reading already noticed that this chapter is way too long to be a cancellation notice. So you probably didn't fool very many of them. ~f_

"Bane, what you suggest is nothing less than suicide," Firenze said. "We have already lost many brave warriors to their fangs, and you propose to send more?"

"We must answer fire with fire, Firenze! The acromantulas must pay for what they have done, and there is no time like the present!" Bane replied. The two centaurs stood in a middle of a crowd. The survivors of the initial attack huddled together.

"You have seen the results of trying to fight those monstrosities with your own eyes. Those are not the acromantulas we are used to dealing with," Firenze countered. "We cannot afford another loss like that."

"Would you rather let the acromantulas have free reign? Yes, I saw what the acromantulas, I saw the bodies. We all did. We need to prevent them from growing stronger, now, while they're weakened," Bane continued to argue. "Can you not see that Firenze, or have the humans infected you with their blindness?"

"Blindness? Look around you, Bane," Firenze gestured at the injured and shell shocked survivors clustered around them. They had hollow expressions. Families huddled together, futilely attempting to comfort each other. "Do you really think they are ready to attack them head on?"

"Attacking is better than leaving them to their own devices," Bane maintained. "At this very moment, they could be taking advantage of our lack of action to expand, to-"

"They aren't going to be expanding," A voice from the crowd interrupted Bane mid-sentence.

"He won't go a centimeter past his borders until every last one of us is dead," Milano said. The last few words were said in a disturbingly cheerful tone, as if he was reciting a children's poem.

"How do you know that?" Bane asked. "They have already attacked us, what's the next-"

"I know because he said so. He didn't lie to us at all," Milano said in the same cheerful time.

"Who didn't lie?" Firenze asked, eyes narrowed.

"Why, the leader of the acromantulas of course. Who else?" Milano answered with a giggle. "He said he wouldn't expand while we forbid it."

"And look how that turned out! He has already broken his word, and even now, he is likely weaving his webs across the entire forest," Bane interrupted.

"No!" Milano shouted, hysterical. Every eye was on him in an instant. "We're still living! He won't do that. Not while even a single centaur lives. He's keeping his word."

"How can you say that, while we hide from his colonies gaze even now?" Firenze said. "Have you gone mad?"

"I say this because I know! We banned him from expanding, and we're certainly not going to change our minds. So the Mind's going to kill us all, just to make sure we can never oppose it!"

"The Mind?" Firenze asked, puzzled.

"We're just ants, pests, obstacles, resources, stressors. Barely worth noticing, small things that burrow underneath the skin and modify all they find..." Milano trailed off, stopping his rant. He stared at his hands as if he had never seen them before. "Oh. So that's what happened. A shame. For a moment, it was all so clear."

Milano suddenly drew his blade. The other centaurs, already on a short fuse, drew and nocked their own bows. Milano found himself staring down a bristling wall of arrows. He stood still, looking carefully over the bows and the faces of the centaurs holding them. He burst out into laughter.

"You can't kill me anymore. What's a few extra pokes to a walking corpse?" Milano addressed his audience. Then he stabbed his knife straight into his forehead. Milano's last sight was his friends, his family, watching him bleed out. Their shock was plain to see, despite everything.

Abathur found this development incredibly disappointing. A few minutes more, and Milano's mind would have been fully converted.

**(Transition)**

As he waited for his appointment, Dumbledore notice that his purple and green robes looked incredibly out of place in the marble halls of Gringotts. Dumbledore was well aware of this, of course, but he liked the contrasting colors. They were ever so eye-catching.

Dumbledore continued pondering the interactions of clothing and room design until a goblin came to collect him.

"Albus Dumbledore," the goblin said, "curse-breaker Byhumorn is available. You will come with me." The goblin walked off down a hallway without bothering to make sure that Dumbledore was following. Ignoring the slight, Dumbledore politely followed in the goblin's footsteps. They stopped before a large door, adorned only with a plate reading 'A. Byhumorn'. The whole room beyond was covered with a worrying number of privacy wards. What could require so much protection?

The goblin rapped its knuckles on the door. There was the sound of cloth rustling and muffled cursing before the door opened, and the privacy wards fell back. A man, or what Dumbledore assumed was a man under all the wrappings, stood on the other side. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"Your appointment, Curse-breaker," The goblin stated, before walking away. The covered man watched the diminutive banker retreat into the background, before turning back to Dumbledore.

"So. What does the Chief Warlock want with me?" asked Adeviar Byhumorn.

He was not what Dumbledore had expected. Looking at his bulk, Dumbledore had to wonder if the curse-breaker was related to Hagrid. Byhumorn's face was almost entirely covered, save for one vividly colored yellow eye. His voice was odd. There was an echo, as if he had two voices that were slightly out of sync with each other. The effect was disconcerting. He took a moment to look past Adeviar into the room he had emerged from. It was much larger than he had expected. There was practically enough room for a person to live in there full time.

"Did Ollivander not tell you?" Dumbledore asked.

"He tried his best, but didn't give much detail. Better to check the source than regret it later," Adeviar replied, still speaking in that doubled voice. Was he using a spell?

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, "I wanted to ask about the effects of a ritual you helped with some 14 years ago."

Adeviar's visible eye narrowed, and his body tensed. In a low growl, he told Dumbledore, "I told you then, and I'll tell you now: I'm not participating in a single one of your Merlin-damned experiments."

Whatever Dumbledore was expecting to hear, that wasn't it. "I assure you, Mr. Byhumorn, no one will be experimenting on you, not now, nor in the future. I just want to know what happened."

Adeviar glared suspiciously at Dumbledore. Dumbledore did his best to project a grandfatherly presence. Eventually, Adeviar relented and silently beckoned Dumbledore into his office.

The first thing Dumbledore noticed was how little the room resembled a workplace. A small bed was shoved into the corner, a kitchen counter ran along one wall, and a closet and pantry were set into another. Did Adeviar live here? Why? Before Dumbledore could ponder any further, Adeviar spoke up.

"So. I assume you've done your research. You've talked to Garrick. You show up, the goblins probably made you wait for hours, and you're still here. What's eating you up so much?" Adeviar asked.

"Ah, there's a question I could spend days answering. Unfortunately, I only have so much time, so please forgive my bluntness. How exactly did the ritual change you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Cutting straight to the chase, eh?" Adeviar said. "Better than the last Ministry bootlicker." Adeviar went over to the pantry, and pulled out a packet of beef jerky. He grabbed a strip with one hand and removed some of his coverings with the other. He took a bite before responding. Then he stared straight into Dumbledore's eyes. "So, why should I bother to tell you that?"

"Are you aware that Vivira Jaren had a child after that night?"

Adeviar's visible eye narrowed. "Yes, I knew. What about it?"

"Were you aware that the child was born 9 months after the ritual?"

Adeviar flinched as if he'd been struck, before very slowly making his way over to a seat across from Dumbledore. There was a long pause as Adeviar gathered his thoughts. "I suppose you probably should know then, just so that you don't toss him out. Did Garrick tell you about the ritual itself?"

"He provided me with the purpose, but was rather vague on the details of the process," Dumbledore said.

Adeviar nodded. "It was very complex, even if its purpose wasn't," Adeviar took another bite of the beef jerky. Dumbledore could've sworn he saw something else under the mask. "The ritual had a lot more steps than normal, but it was a hell of a lot more powerful. Garrick left the details to me and Jedelis, our arithmancy expert. Simply put, it takes the soul first, then the 'information' of the body, and uses that to construct a new vessel. It takes much less power than making a portal, and offers quite a bit more range."

"How clever," Dumbledore commented. "I wouldn't have considered that."

"It was new to all of us, but all that means is that there were plenty of chances for mistakes. It didn't help that we were working second-handed and off of incredibly ancient texts. Should've seen it coming," Adeviar said.

"You should seen what coming?" Dumbledore asked.

"It was going to fail. Somewhere in the second step, the whole process fell to pieces. The containment failed, the information and the soul scattered, the vessel never even started to form. They went into the only things they could," Adeviar chuckled grimly. "And that was us."

"If they went into you, what happened to them?" Dumbledore asked.

Adeviar paused, fiddling with bits of his mask. "How's your stomach?"

"It is quite durable, I assure you," Dumbledore said.

"I hope so, because this is easier to show than explain," Adeviar said, and pulled off his mask.

Whatever Dumbledore had been expecting, the reality was far worse. Half of Adeviar's face was covered with purple scales, and a small tendril grew out of his cheek. Lines of light spread from the eye he'd kept hidden, and the eye itself was actually glowing with a soft light. When Adeviar pulled off his gloves, he revealed clawed hands which were covered with a rough carapace.

"If you think I look bad, you should have seen the others," Adeviar said when he saw Dumbledore's expression. "They didn't survive their changes."

"This is what would have been summoned?" Dumbledore asked, shocked.

"Of course not. This is just bits and pieces of it, pushed onto me. Considering what the rest of us looked like, the full thing would have been much, much worse. I'm almost glad it failed, considering," Adeviar responded. "The kid doesn't have any of this?"

"He has nothing like that," Dumbledore said.

Adeviar visibly relaxed. "Good. He avoided the worst effects then. I've pretty much been living here when I'm not out of the country. Can't exactly go out like this, can I?"

There was a brief silence, before Dumbledore asked another question. "What happened to the soul of the creature?" he said.

"Scattered, just like the rest of it. Not gone, but Occlumency keeps the worst of the whispers away," Adeviar said.

"And what exactly are the whispers?"

"Just that, little snippets of words. There's bits about something called an Overmind, lots of glimpses of creatures like this," Adeviar pointed to his face. "But recently, they're mostly ranting about perfection."

Dumbledore's blood ran cold. With a quick wave of his wand, he crafted an illusion of Thenabar's Boggart. "Were the summons successful, would the result possibly look like this?"

Adeviar studied the image. "Could be, certainly. It's ugly enough."

"What effect would these whispers have on a newborn child, one that didn't have any way to defend against it?" Dumbledore asked in a low tone.

Adeviar froze, struck by the horrors that thought presented. Then he grabbed Dumbledore's shoulder, squeezing with a surprising amount of strength. "Teach the kid Occlumency," he said. "Now."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but Adeviar pushed him out the door. With alarm in his eyes, he shut Dumbledore out, only saying, "Now old man! Now!" and shoving him on his way. Worriedly, Dumbledore made his way out of Gringotts. He could only hope it wasn't too late.

**(Transition)**

**Aberration: The majority of the infested terrans in the Zerg Swarm are essentially cannon fodder. Pieces of disconnected flesh held together by armor and spitballs that fall apart at the slightest breeze. Or, if they've been around too long, a bullet through their own skull. The aberrations, created by then broodmother Zagara from infested terrans, are the exception. Towering, pustule covered, centaur-like creatures, aberrations provide a strong, albeit uncommon, front line for zerg forces. Aberrations attack with their clawed forearms, slashing at anything in their path. Due to their great height, aberrations provide makeshift cover on the battlefield, giving armor to anything underneath them. With their own rather high durability, aberrations make any force, especially one with relatively weak units, an unstoppable wave of death.**


	29. Four, Three, Two, One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(Just to clear the air, I am continuing this story. The message saying I was ending it was a joke. This story is going all the way to the glorious end.)**
> 
> Disclaimer: Despite the extensive use of improvised lab rats, this story, is in fact, not science. Science has so far failed to provide us with giant monsters that kill things. Ones that aren't human, at least. Also, don't own it.
> 
> A guest reviewer has asked if there will be a sequel or another story involving Abathur in another universe. First off, even if I wrote a story like that, that wouldn't happen for a long time, not until Catalyst is complete, which will take, at the very, very least, another few months. A shorter sequel is a possibility. I'm kicking around an idea for it, although feauxen isn't exactly sold on it. A story with the same premise with another universe or another character is never going to happen. I am not going to write a story that's copied and pasted from another one. Yes, there are stories by other authors with a similar start. But this one is mine, and I'd like to say I've done a good job making it unique. I don't want to spoil that with another story with an identical premise. Another universe and another character is a possibility, but I don't have any plans for that. That said, the next fic I plan to work on has already been decided, but it will wait until after Catalyst is finished, and I actually have an idea what Dehaka I'm doing. With that lengthy rant out of the way, here's a transition joke.
> 
> **(You may be in remission from pretending renditions of inferior transitions gave you anything like my delicious compositions)**
> 
>  
> 
> _Yeah, because your compositions always leave me...craving for more...sorry, I can't say that with a straight face._
> 
> **(Also, major thanks to feauxen for writing most of the first scene. There is something about Luna that I find very difficult to channel.)**
> 
> _I may write Luna better, but Abathur is still beyond my reach. Without him helping write that scene...well, I would have been completely unable to finish it. Also, I feel obligated to apologize for dragging the chapter release out so far. Without the drama I added to it, you probably would have gotten this a few days ago. Many apologies for that._
> 
> **(Sweet Overmind there are a lot of ANs here now)**

Luna was cold.

This made sense, of course, because it was December, she wasn't wearing warm clothing, and stone castles are quite drafty. Luna rather wished she were wearing warm clothing at the moment, but some gurdies had run off with all of hers. Or that was what her roommates had said. They often made up ridiculous creatures to blame on their own mischief. Still, she would need at least a warm robe and slippers in the morning. Fortunately, this wasn't the first time Luna's possessions had gone missing in such a fashion, so she hunting them down had become something of a second nature to her.

Shivering a bit, Luna walked purposefully into the uppermost level of the dungeons. This was where she usually found the barest essentials. Tonight, she really wished this wasn't the case, because the dungeons were even colder than the rest of the castle. As her breath began to fog the air, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. It was a robe, perhaps even one of hers. She was reaching out to take it when, to her great surprise, it spoke!

"Cease contact," it said.

"Oh!" Luna squeaked as she hastily withdrew her arm. Then, with a start, she recognized the voice. "Abathur! How lovely to meet you here. Are you also looking for something?"

Abathur stepped into the light, looking slightly reluctant. "Wandering. No purpose."

Luna shivered again. "Just wandering? I don't suppose you saw any clothing as you wandered, did you?"

"Have not."

"Oh." Disappointment filled Luna, and she shivered again. "Do you think you could help me look?"

Abathur peered at her in his unique way. "Have extra. Can provide, if you lack."

Luna felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her chest. "Really?"

"Yes," Abathur said, "Remain here." Then, he walked away.

Watching him leave, Luna was startled. Was he really going to help her? He'd sounded quite blunt, but he always sounded like that. As the minutes slowly, frigidly passed her by, something kept Luna clinging to the hope that Abathur  _wasn't_ like the others. That maybe he really would come back around that corner and-

Luna heard footsteps. He was back! As Abathur rounded the corner, a spare robe in hand, she couldn't help but run to him and throw her arms around him in an overwhelming hug. She saw him flinch defensively, nearly avoiding the contact like he always did, but for some reason, this time, he actually let her fully embrace him.

For about three seconds.

"Cease contact."

Luna obligingly let go, and eyed him critically. His heart had been beating quite quickly during her hug, and he looked to be breathing faster than normal. "Did you run all the way here, Abathur?"

"Were losing heat," he replied in his usual monotone, "Slower path, necessary?" As he said this, he held out the robe he'd fetched for emphasis.

Luna too the robe and wrapped it around herself. "No, I don't think so."

"Lacking insulation. Inefficient. Reason?" Abathur asked.

"I was…" Luna's mind raced. She fidgeted a bit, wavering between telling the truth and some of her usual fiction, when confronted like this. As indecisiveness took over her mind, her mouth began to describe the situation as she saw it, like it always did.

"My roommates stole all of my warm clothing and hid it. I'm going to need something to wear tomorrow, so I had to find it. When nothing was hidden in the common room...I kept looking." Luna's eyes widened. Even she was shocked at her openness.

Abathur peered closely at her again. "Temperature, potentially fatal. Motivation, unclear."

Luna admired the brickwork in the wall to their left. "I needed to find my clothing, or else someone might have noticed the situation, and I don't want people to think that I'm having trouble getting along with my roommates. I…" Luna wasn't really sure herself why she'd thought that going to such extremes was a good idea.

"Roommates, disagreeable. Why hide from instructors?"

"Because…because I don't know what will happen if the teachers do find out," Luna realized, "and I don't think I'd enjoy finding out."

Abathur stopped peering, and his face hardened. "Punishment, probable?"

Luna finished admiring the left wall's brickwork, and decided to compare it to the right wall's brickwork as she considered Abathur's question. After a lot of reflection, she came to two distinct conclusions; punishment was indeed possible, and the bricks were the same on either side.

"I...I don't know," Luna said, finally looking up at Abathur, "They may decide that I'm the problem, and there's no telling what would happen then. I've heard that muggles lock people like me up, and that wizards can't be all that different."

"Your imprisonment, illogical. Reasoning?" Abathur asked, a hint of worry present in his tone.

"Believing in nargles and crumple-horned snorkacks makes me crazy, you see," Luna explained. "And since being crazy makes me unfit to live in muggle society, it's not hard to wonder why wizards might be quite similar. If…if you hadn't started listening to my stories about them, I don't know what I would have done." And she really didn't. Abathur was the first person she had ever sought out at Hogwarts, and if he'd ignored her…

"Creatures, inspiring. Wish stories to continue." Abathur tone began to waver, and his expression became pained. "Potential imprisonment...upsetting."

"You know, that's possibly the nicest thing I've heard since arriving at Hogwarts," Luna said, "And if it isn't, you definitely said whatever it was that was nicer. You are an excellent friend, Abathur."

"Trying," Abathur replied humbly.

Luna cocked her head as she took that in. Her newest and best friend was certainly odd sometimes. "I'm glad you try, Abathur. I don't know that anyone else does."

"Others, try to stifle you. Unproductive. Bad decision. Wish to see full potential. Yours, better than most."

Luna carefully wrote her about that declaration confusion into her expression, and Abathur seemed to understand that she was asking him to elaborate.

"Your potential, limitless. Ideas, invaluable. Would hate to waste."

Luna felt a warmth rise up in her chest, and this warmth had little to do with the robe Abathur had given her. "Thank you. Although...in the interest of preserving all that potential, I think I should head to bed. Sleep is an essential part of life, after all."

Abathur jerked a hand toward her as if to physically restrain her, before he stopped and asked, "Returning to dorm? With terr- humans responsible for situation?"

"I won't be with  _all_ of the people currently responsible for my situation, Abathur. Not unless you feel like intruding?" Luna smiled saucily.

Abathur's hand dropped to his side and he stared at her, clearly confused, for several seconds. "Unclear. Are...joking?" he asked hesitantly.

Luna giggled. "Of course I'm joking, silly. You don't need to be so worried. When they see that I've brought back an unfamiliar cloak, my roommates will probably be scared out of their wits. I'll have my possessions back by morning, and it'll be a full week before they try anything else."

Abathur peered deep into her eyes and...was that approval on his face?

"Acceptable," he said.

That was approval on his face! Luna was so caught up in joy upon that realization that she hastily said goodbye and rushed off before tears of joy could show themselves. As she skipped merrily back to class, she couldn't get Abathur's look of acceptance and approval out of her head.  _No one_ had looked at her like that before, and it made her stomach squirm with warm little wiggleys that made her nervous and excited all at once. Luna had a friend, and he approved of her habits and quirks.

Oh, the things they would do together.

**(Transition)**

"Albus, there are days when I truly wonder whether you've gone senile. I should probably thank you for settling that question. Jaren is odd, yes, but possessed? Driven mad by an alien? I've heard more plausible theories in those 'books' written about Potter."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Pray tell, Severus, how do you know what is written in those books?"

"That is not remotely the point, Albus. You cannot ask me to use Legilimency on a student for such an absurd reason. For any reason at all, really."

"Severus, you are the only one I can trust with this task. You are the child's head of house, and it is your duty to ensure his safety. You yourself have admitted there is something odd about him."

The potions professor affected a superior air, turning up his nose and looking down it at the barmy old man. "There is a difference between ensuring someone's safety and outright assault. This most definitely crosses the line. I will not invade the still developing mind of a child, especially not on such flimsy justification as above average potion skills."

Dumbledore sighed. "Do you remember the rumors from last year about someone eating a Boggart?"

"Yes. I thoroughly checked the Slytherin dorms for illegal potions the day afterwards. There was a startling lack of hallucinogens."

"I'm not surprised. You see, that wasn't a rumor, Severus. Thenabar turned a boggart into a worm and then swallowed it whole," Dumbledore said. "It was only luck and the distraction provided by Sirius's break-in that prevented rumors from spreading more widely."

As the headmaster told Severus the results of his investigation, the Potions master's shock grew greater and greater. Albus told him about Adeviar, about the boggart, the troll, ripped apart, and how all the signs pointed to Thenebar being possessed.

When Dumbledore had finished talking, Severus couldn't say anything. He opened his mouth several times, trying to speak, but nothing came out. After several minutes of this, he finally found his voice. "You understand, the tournament is disrupting the normal class schedule. I will not have Jaren in my class until after the First Task. I will not be able to get to him before then."

"That is a risk we can afford to take. After all, a few more days won't make a difference."

**(Transition)**

An arrow flew through the still forest air and struck a tree vibrating from the impact, The tree was marked with eight painted eyes, and the arrow had pierced one of these eyes perfectly. Similarly painted trees surrounded the archery range, all riddled with arrows. Few arrows would not have been a fatal shot, were these stationary enemies real. The centaur that had fired the shot stood nearly surrounded by the faces of his enemy, his quiver now empty.

"Very impressive," Bane said. He was standing back, watching the archer practice with a solemn determination

"Impressive or not, it won't be enough. If it took only a single arrow to end an acromantula, we would not be trapped here," Thane shot back.

"Of course not. It is good to see that some of us are aware of how much of a threat they pose," Bane agreed.

Thane snorted, and retrieved his arrows before beginning to fire them at the faces of his enemy once more. Another few arrows pounded into the bark as Thane watched from behind the range. After another few minutes of watching the impalement of acromantula eyes, he spoke up again.

"You know that the acromantulas hunt us, in our minds as well as the woods. Milano's suicide, tragic though it was, proves that. We will need to go after them," Bane continued.

"And doing so without consulting the stars would be a very efficient way to commit suicide," Thane remarked. He hadn't stopped firing arrows at the trees. "Brash you may be, but I doubt you're so eager to die. At least, not yet. Given time, we'll see just how desperate you become."

"Why do you think I have approached you, stargazer?" Bane asked.

"Ah. So you're too lazy to look up and see them for yourself. No wonder you're so desperate to prove yourself."

Bane ignored the insult and continued. "It is not that. I have seen the stars, but their message is... unclear. If we do not act, only hard times await us. But the other path, that is hidden to my eyes," Bane explained.

"Was it really hidden? Or did you just refuse to see it?" Thane mused. "Either way, it is your own failing, and I see no reason to correct it for you."

"Would you rather we march to war without your guidance? If you know the outcome, do not hide it from me," Bane demanded

Thane ignored the demand, tilting his head to face Bane. "What do you hope to accomplish with this, Bane? Do you think a few warriors will kill the entire colony in their own territory? Do you have some elaborate plan that will inevitably fail? Whatever it is, knowing your failure ahead of time will not prevent it. No matter how much you plead Bane, I will not help you to commit suicide. I still have enough hope, and see enough in the stars to avoid that."

"It is not just I that will fight. Not all of the others agree with Firenze. They and I are ready to sacrifice ourselves to end this scourge, if necessary," Bane said.

"And if that only makes matters worse?" Thane turned then, and locked Bane in place with a penetrating stare.

Bane stilled. Thane had finally turned away from the archery range, and was observing him with a cold dispassion.

"So often, we discount the celestial spheres, especially those closest to us, but even they each have their place in the sky. You cannot read the stars without taking them into account, and they scream of your folly. Our situation will grow incalculably dire if you go through with your attack."

Bane scoffed. "I did not think you were so eager to eat from Firenze's palm, star-gazer. If this is all the aid you will give us, then we will move without it."

"Oh? I remember you singing a very different tune just a few minutes ago," Thane said mockingly.

Bane raised his head and straightened his back. He turned away from Thane, looking as if he was preparing to leave. "We will end the acromantulas, with your aid or not. Your help is welcome, but far from necessary."

"I'll not join your fool's errand, it will bring doom to us all." Thane stated, firmly refusing Bane.

Bane reached back for his bow, face contorted with anger. Thane watched him with one eyebrow raised. He made no motion to reach for his own weapon. After a tense moment, Bane's hand fell back to his side. "We will march with or without your aid, Thane."

"Of course you will," Thane let out a heavy sigh. "I hope you find your glory before you condemn us all to death."

**(Transition)**

A few days ago, if someone had told Abathur that giant reptiles flew using nothing but muscle and tissue, he would have dissected their brain to see if that idiocy could be weaponized. Now, having witnessed a dragon chase his former camouflage through the air, Abathur was very glad to have access to the immensely powerful essence possessed by these dragons. And he would have had it sooner, had he done been more proactive about Norbert, but those wings should have been vestigial!

Regardless, watching the dragons attempt to scorch the humans had been immensely amusing, even if none of the terran whelps or the hybrid had been torn apart, and none of the dragons had been killed. A corpse that nobody paid attention to, or something he could harvest unseen would have been excellent. Unfortunately, these were humans. They were good at killing everything except what he wanted them to.

Abathur soon made his way into the Forbidden Forest, stopping directly outside the terran dragon enclosure. It was almost comically easy to infiltrate their camp. They weren't even bothering to hide them, unless a few wards that likely blocked the humans' pitiful visual spectrum, and some sound muffling counted as concealment. Abathur, however, was not bound by such limitations. They might as well have put up an invitational sign. Oh well. The humans' folly was to his benefit this time and he wasn't going to complain about it.

Abathur pinpointed every human mind within the warded enclosure, and ordered his forces to quietly surround them. The ground beneath his feet seemed to writhe, before flowing forward to do his bidding. The sleeping humans were targeted first, swarmed by ants bearing a sedative. Abathur would have preferred a toxin, but he didn't have anything appropriate, and he was already pressed for time. A few dozen pincers injected sedative into their veins, ensuring they would not interrupt his work.

That only left the terrans keeping watch. Abathur covered them in ants, giving them the same treatment. They collapsed one by one, clearing the path between him and the dragons. Their screams were quiet enough to be irrelevant, even without the wards. With a couple teralings, smallest of the acromantulas, escorting him, Abathur walked towards the chained reptiles. They were peering curiously at him, clearly not seeing him as a threat. That would probably change soon.

Abathur's spiders had located the wardstone. Abathur, in his almost true form, moved over to it, inspecting the runes inscribed in the rock. He set the spiders to weaving their webs, overlaying the current scheme with his own, more extensive version. He would tolerate no interruptions. The limbs on his back twitched in anticipation.

With all the security taken care of, Abathur turned his attention to the dragons. They were isolated, chained down and separated. Good. That would make this much easier. He walked into the first pen, containing the Swedish Short-snout. It reared up, preparing to exhale fire on Abathur, to turn him into a pile of ashes. It had decent survival instincts. He would still have to improve them though. If the beast's instincts were ideal, it would have tried to escape the second it saw him.

Abathur only had to think, and the dragon's jaws snapped shut, its body stilled, and its head hurtled toward the ground, but to his great surprise, the beast was quite capable of resisting him. With an extreme force of will, Abathur pushed the dragon's head lower, close enough to the ground for the teralings to strike with the long, biting fangs he'd added. They scurried forward, pinning the dragon's head beneath their bulk. Then they bit deep into the pinned head, their fangs penetrating both scale and bone, but it was slow going. Almost too slow. The dragon was more powerful that Abathur had expected, or perhaps more resistant to psionics. The gigantic reptile was struggling against his grasp, and, to his surprise, it might have been able to break his grasp, given time. Fortunately, the terralings exposed the beast's brain before that could happen.

Stepping up to the dying dragon, Abathur drove one of his scythe-like limbs directly into the exposed gray matter. It stopped struggling almost instantly, freeing Abathur to concentrate on other things. The sac on the limb buried in the dragon's brain contracted. Millions upon millions of copies of the hyper-evolutionary virus flooded from the tip of the limb, infecting every corner of the dragons brain. Abathur directed it to the dragons prefrontal cortex, binding the dragon to the hivemind. With a burst of power, the rest of the brain was healed.

The dragon rose unsteadily. It shook its head before looking straight at the dragon next to it. With a predatory gait, the new convert approached its former relative. Abathur slammed the next dragon to the ground, and had his dragon took advantage. A single claw, driven by several tons of muscles, dug straight into the skull. Abathur inserted his tendril into the brain, giving the corpse the same treatment as the last one.

After another half hour, every dragon had been given the same treatment, and were following closely behind Abathur. Cloaks of spider web, woven into intricate patterns, hid them from casual observers. Abathur collapsed the wardstone before withdrawing the Hive and teralings.

Abathur was immensely pleased. He now had forces to provide an aerial view of the battlefield and harass enemies with. He could extract the essence from one of the dragons, and convert the rest to biomass. Abathur's tendrils shivered yet again. What secrets of psionics were contained within these strands? Even after he used what he needed for the infestation, there would be quite a bit of these creatures left over. Well, he had time. And biomass was one of those resources that was never lacking in uses.

_(In another life, this was a neat, horizontal line, a smooth_ _**Transition)** _

**Sarah Kerrigan: Sarah Kerrigan is a terran born in the Koprulu sector who had immense physic powers and was recruited and trained by the terran confederacy. Her powers first manifested at age 8 in an incident that killed her mother and left her father with brain damage. It was this incident that garnered her the attention of the Terran confederacy. She was kidnapped and conscripted into their ghost program, where she was systematically broken down and reconstructed as a new person. She became an assassin to the core, heartless and efficient, and robbed of all memories aside from those deemed necessary. Eventually, she was rescued by Arcturus Mengsk, the revolutionary son of one of her previous targets. Kerrigan came to be loyal to Mengsk, working on his behalf to collapse the Confederacy that had hurt her so much. Unfortunately, once Kerrigan began to question Mengsk's methods and motives, he abandoned her on the zerg-infested planet of Tarsonis, where she was quickly overwhelmed by the Swarm. The terran ghost was never heard from again, and is presumed to be dead.**


	30. Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There are chapters where everything finally clicks. Where plotlines I've been planning and developing for chapters and chapters finally come to fruition. Where everything finally, finally, converges into one glorious ~3500 word scene. I adore writing those chapters, and I imagine this will be no different. Because finally, for the first time in far too long, I will be writing that kind of chapter, in all its unscientific glory, right now. Still don't own it though. Also, happy discount Hanukkah.
> 
> _Season's greetings, I guess. ~f_
> 
> **(I started this chapter before the last one was even finished. How's that for a transition?)**
> 
> _*feauxen shrieks in untold agony*_

Bane faced towards the centaur hunting party. "Are we ready to make these forests safe once again?" The only response was an eager wave of shouts and the sound of stomping hooves. The hunters' faces were determined, their resolve firm. Today was the day they took back what was theirs.

"We attack at dusk. Be prepared."

**(Transition)**

"Abathur, as much as I'd like to see whatever it is you want to show me, do we really have to go this far into the Forbidden Forest?" Luna asked as she followed Abathur through the trees. "Daddy always says that that's where the Rotfang Conspirators like to hang out, and I wouldn't want to run into  _them_. They probably don't like what Daddy's written about them at all." Overhead, the light was beginning to fade from the sky.

"Necessary. Subject, only located here. Sole location on planet," Abathur responded. He wished he had more broods setup, but for now, he still was learning psionics from the humans, and he only had so much range of control. Perhaps if he worked with the essence from Aragog...

"Oh, well why didn't you just say so?" Luna asked, beaming. With new vigor, she skipped forward.

Abathur was dumbstruck. They had been walking for several hours, and he'd had to cajole Luna every step of the way. If only he'd known that all he needed to do was tell Luna that his brood was unique, the trip could have been much more pleasant.

The unlikely duo continued into the woods, blissfully undisturbed. By now, the native creatures knew to avoid Abathur in either form, so he and Lune were undisturbed by any potential attackers. A pity, really. It would have been interesting to see her unmodified reaction to danger.

Before long, the duo had arrived in Abathur's territory. Almost everything here was under his direct control, and the local wildlife was either repurposed, reduced to biomass, or no longer present. And so, the first major encounter that Luna had with his brood was when a few members of the Hive chewed a branch off a tree, and dropped it directly onto her head.

"Ow!" she yelped, before putting a hand to her head. "Where did that come from?" Abathur put a hand to her head and pulled back her hair to examine the wound. He pressed his fingers into the wounded flesh.

"Abathur, stop it! That stings." Abathur ignored her, and flexed his finger. A single drop containing millions of copies of the hyper-evolutionary virus oozed from the tip, and dropped into her wound. He released a quick pulse of power, directed at her head. The wound closed in an instant, sealing in the green goop, and leaving Luna's head undamaged.

Luna lifted her hands to her head, feeling where the branch had knocked into it. Her fingers ran over the smooth, unblemished skin.

"Abathur, since when could you do wandless magic? You've been holding out on me!" Luna exclaimed.

"Cannot. Different process. Will explain later," Abathur responded. Whatever the human psionics did was beyond his ability, at least without the aid of a wand. He would have to look into exactly how they worked. But the simpler things, such as the manipulation of flesh and bone were all too easy. Abathur began walking again, moving further into his home base.

"Um, Abathur?" Luna asked hesitantly. "Are those... dragons?"

Abathur glanced over to where Luna gaze was pointed. She was looking at the infested dragons, who were patrolling his borders until he found some other use for them.

"Mostly. Have been... altered," Abathur answered.

"Wait, are these the dragons from the tournament? So that's where they've been hiding," Luna commented. "Oh, that one's hurt!" she said, before running straight at them. Straight at a trio of highly dangerous, highly aggressive, fire breathing reptiles dozens of times her size. "Oh, this one has a big scar on his head!"

Abathur made a note to improve their regeneration later.

"But where's the fourth one?" Its essence had been harvested and the rest of the beast had been reverted to biomass. But now was not the time to tell her about that.

"Interesting, but not destination. Must go further," Abathur said.

"No."

"What?" Abathur had needed to stop himself mid step. Luna was supposed to keep following him. She was supposed to accompany him into the heart of his brood. Why was she stopping now?

"No. Come on, Abathur. Look at these dragons! They're friendly. Look, this one's eyes are so pretty!" The eye in question was bright red, narrow, and calculating. Abathur couldn't fault her taste. Still, the delay was intolerable. He was pressed enough for time as it was, he couldn't afford to waste any more. He ordered the dragons took wing, leaving behind a disappointed Luna and an impatient Abathur.

"Wasted enough time. Objective elsewhere. Must continue," Abathur demanded.

"Fine." Luna pouted. "But we  _will_  look for them after this."

"Acceptable."

After another minute, they were walking on creep rather than dirt, and the trees had more webs than branches. Scuttling noises came from every shadow, and the ground teemed with insects that scurried every which way. Luna began to emanate some hesitation as her eyes drank everything in.

"Abathur?" she began. "What exactly are we looking for?" Abathur pressed onward, not answering. Not yet. Either she would relax when she saw the Swarm, or she would panic. Reassurance either way would not change the outcome. Today, Luna would become a member of the Swarm.

Abathur felt the outer edges of the wards rippling over his skin as he walked through them, with Luna following close behind. As she crossed the wardline, he heard her breath catch.

"Abathur...what is this?" she asked, her eyes full of wonder. She couldn't seem to keep her eyes on one thing for very long. Her eyes were darting between the massive domes that were the ritholisks, bearing the eggs that would grow his brood, and the acromantula strains scuttling along the trees and webs, moving in every conceivable direction. She saw the creep, pulsing and flowing along the ground. The site was still woefully inadequate, but it served its purpose.

"Zerg Swarm." The words were still almost painfully dangerous to say, even surrounded by his entire brood. But he had to take the risk. And Luna had yet to show hostility at the mention of the Swarm.

"Really? You found them? I'm so jealous! Daddy and I have been searching for the crumple-horned snorkack for years without success, and here you've already found what you were looking for," Luna gushed. That was... an unexpected reaction. Had the terrans of this world really never heard of the Swarm? Or was Luna even more anomalous than she first appeared?

"Partially correct," Abathur responded. "Some errors."

"What do you mean?" Luna asked.

"Not full Swarm. Fragment. Assimilated local species, improvised. Also...did not find," Abathur said. Then he began to transform. His true form grew out from and over the human shell. His skin became covered with dull grey scales. His fingers elongated and sharpened into claws. From his back, four new limbs extended, ending in long scythe like blades. His eyes grew smaller, closer together and much brighter. Several plates grew over his head, forming a large crest. When he spoke, it was with two voices, only just out of sync. "Am of Swarm. Made this. Made them."

Luna stood silent, with her mouth gaping. Abathur could sense over a dozen conflicting emotions competing for dominance. He couldn't get a solid read on any of them. As a precaution, he quietly moved a few teralings into position behind her. Luna was enough of an anomaly that she probably wouldn't attack immediately, but he had long since learned to be prepared for anything.

"That's so cool!"

Well, he thought he'd been prepared for anything.

"How long have you been a zerg? What's it like? Have you seen a crumple-horned snorkack? And why are you telling me now?" Luna asked breathlessly.

"Have always been of Swarm. No experience of being human. Zerg, superior. Have not met snorkack. Last question, more complicated answer," Abathur answered. "Telling you, because you are most able to accept. Telling you now to invite you to join Swarm."

"What?" Luna's had been excited, surprised, curious. Now, all she was was shocked..

"Swarm, can assimilate species, individuals. Add them to self. You, could be member. Improved. Made better," Abathur said.

"Abathur, I appreciate the offer but..."

"Will not accept you."

"What?"

"Terr- humans. Will not accept you. Have not accepted you. Will keep rejecting until personality is removed. Any variation, will eliminate. Swarm, will not change mind. Will let you be self, if you let us."

Abathur could feel Luna's conflict as she digested her words. Hesitation, reminiscence, loneliness, all of these were competing within her mind. It seemed as if her decision could go either way. She could reject his offer, expose him to the world, let the nukes rain down. She could join him, cast off her species and join something that would never abandon her. It should have been the most stressful moment of Abathur's life. It would have been, if he hadn't already fixed the outcome.

Within Luna's brain, the virus he had put into her head wound was rapidly making changes. Nothing big, as he didn't have time to take full control, especially of a psionic's mind. But a little burst of pleasure when she thought of the zerg, a modicum of despair when her housemates entered her mind. The more he tipped the scales, the longer Luna hesitated, and the longer she hesitated, the more control he had over her decision. It only took a few minutes before she came to the conclusion Abathur knew she would.

"Okay," Luna said quietly. "What do I have to do?"

"Little. Will do work. Only need to enter this," Abathur said, leading her to a small pit that nearly overflowed with raw essence. She hesitated, but then stepped in, immediately sinking into the essence, where he rapidly sealed her into a large cocoon. His limbs stretched over the pool, a membrane being secreted between them. When it was large enough, he placed the membrane over Luna, sealing her in.

As an afterthought, he directed some spiders to the ward scheme, and directed them to spin and alter few lines. The wards along the borders collapsed as a new barrier formed around Luna. It would leave him with less defense, but it would also keep any mental cries of distress Luna made from calling to anyone, as the Queen of Blades had when he was working on her. A worthwhile risk.

Now where to begin? Probably with the connection to the hivemind, and after that...

**(Transition)**

Luna was warm.

Or at least, she knew she was warm. Her muscles were loose and her sweat glands were producing. But she didn't feel much of anything, wrapped in the cocoon. Oh, she knew she was in absolutely horrible pain. Her muscles were breaking themselves down to make way for something better, and her bones splintering apart at the seams. But she didn't actually  _feel_ anything. Her body felt almost completely disconnected from sensation. It was almost peaceful, not feeling and just thinking.

And there was plenty to think about. Luna had occasionally considered what the world looked like from the eyes of a spider. Now, she felt the thoughts of the seemingly endless multitudes of spiders around her, and she could look through their eyes at will. It was amazing what she could see with all eight eyes. She could see behind the spider almost as well as she could see what was in front of it. And more than that, she felt the spider's numerous limbs impact the rough bark, shifting the small hairs to the side. To her surprise, it felt her presence, but let her in with open arms, or whatever the mental equivalent was. Eyebrows? She would have to ask Abathur and see if he knew.

It was a truly wondrous experience to explore the minds of the Swarm. To be able to know what each was feeling and thinking so intimately. Even as her body was wracked with distant pain, the sheer wonder kept her more than occupied. Unfortunately, it also left her totally unprepared for when the acromantula she was riding was riddled with arrows and fell to the ground, dead.

The pain was so sudden, so intense that it left Luna reeling. But worse still was the sheer nothingness that came after. Where there was once a brilliant light, a mind full of thoughts and sensations, now there was only a void. Was that what death was?

She hadn't been the only one to notice the demise of the soldier. Its death rippled throughout the hivemind, drawing attention. And with a primal shudder, the Swarm responded. Big and small, the zerg converged on their dead comrade, searching for a cause. The centaurs who had shot the acromantula, however, weren't hiding. They were already firing another volley into the gathering soldiers.

Abathur had taken notice of the disturbance. His own thoughts wrapped around the hivemind, an intricate web of strands and flesh. He asserted his dominance over the entire Swarm, pulling it together, binding it with a single purpose. Luna could sense his physical body rapidly moving towards the disturbance.

In the meantime, the Swarm had reoriented itself, and was fighting back. Most of the acromantula converts were rushing into melee with claws and fangs, tearing deep into the centaur's flesh. A few others hung back and fired some green liquid that burned centaur flesh. Abathur himself had entered the fray, stabbing centaurs or crushing them with his odd wandless magic.

Meanwhile, the centaurs were still launching volley after volley of arrows, creating a constant pain in Luna's mind. Intellectually, Luna knew that their little twigs tipped with flint were doing next to nothing. But that didn't help when the pain of every death washed over her, when she felt the void that was once a life. In desperation, she looked into Abathur's mind for a way to stop the agony. To her immense surprise, he let her in just as easily as the spiders had. In his mind, she found nothing but determination to defend the Swarm. To protect her.

Every single zerg was out there fighting just for her, dying for her, at great cost. Every death in the Swarm sent shockwaves through the hivemind, echoing the pain and loss of each member. How could the centaurs be willing to cause so much pain, so much death?

How could she stand by and let them?

The thought raced through Luna. How could she let them do this? She had her magic, she could make a difference. She could protect them like they were protecting her. Really, what reason was there not to join her kin? With that thought, something clicked into place. Her mind snapped back into her own body, and immediately she felt all of the pain of her recently repurposed limbs. But, more importantly, she could now break free of the cocoon. With a wet tearing noise, Luna ripped her way out.

Luna took no time to examine her new form. Adrenaline flowed through her mind, guiding her towards the constant pulse of conflict. With only a thought, her wand flew into her hand. She practically glided over the ground, as the creep urged her towards the sounds of battle. Within seconds she was there.

"INCENDIO," she shouted. A wave of flame washed out from her wand, bathing the centaurs in heat. Their skin cracked under the intense fire. Screams of pain came out across the enemy line. Good. They would feel pain, just as they had caused it. Luna continued to rain down fire on the centaurs, who were driven back by the sudden onslaught.

In the meantime, the Swarm flanked the centaurs, attacking them from all sides. The centaurs were being whittled down, forced into a circle that grew smaller from second to second. For every zerg felled, there were another dozen to mercilessly destroy the remaining centaurs.

The tide of battle was clearly going against the centaurs. Their numbers were dwindling rapidly, and soon enough, the last centaur was surrounded. It seemed as if the threat to the Swarm was finally over. But Luna's adrenaline was still pumping. It couldn't be over, could it? No. There were still other centaurs out there. There was still a threat to the Swarm. That was unacceptable.

Luna mentally commanded the zerg to step away from the last centaur, running to face it herself. The centaur, injured as it was, put up little resistance when she wrapped her tentacle (Tentacle? She had tentacles now? Cool!) around its body, with the barbed tip pointed directly at its face. With a grunt of effort she pulled it up and towards herself.

"Where are the rest?" Luna asked bluntly.

"As if I would tell you, monster," it said. The centaur was dazed, wounded, and surrounded by its dead brethren. But it still managed to be defiant. But Luna was not in the mood for games.

The centaurs mind did not open its eyebrows to her like the zerg had. Fortunately, it was quite easy to force her way into it and pull the location from its memories, despite its meagre attempts at resistance. When she was done, she stabbed the sharp tip of her tentacle into its brain, then dropped the corpse, ready to hunt down the remaining centuars. Before she could do that, however, she was interrupted.

"Luna. Wait," Abathur said. He must have come up behind her while she was distracted. The other zerg had left at this point, leaving them alone in the aftermath.

"Abathur, there's no time. I know where the rest of them are. I can make sure they won't hurt any of us ever again," Luna responded.

"Am aware," he stated.

"Then what? Do you want me to just leave them to be? They attacked us, Abathur. They killed us. And you want me to let them be?" As she said this, she felt something like amusement from Abathur's mind.

"No. Take dragons," Abathur said. The flying beasts had landed just behind him. "Require testing."

"Oh," Luna said.

**(Transition)**

The scent of smoke and ashes was thick in the forest's air. If he looked carefully, Abathur could see the light of the dragon fire in the distance. Various acromantula strains scuttled about, attending to their various tasks. The transport lines of the Hive flowed almost like lava. Taking it in, Abathur found the whole scene quite pleasant. It reminded him of Char. His creations were being tested, enemies were being slaughtered, and he would soon begin his work, evolving the Swarm until it was finally ready to strike out.

_Queen of Blades: Queen with not-actually blades, built-in high heels, and purple face paint. Hey, look at me, I know real facts for once! ~f_

**Queen of Blades: The Queen of Blades has possibly one of the most complicated histories in the Koprulu sector. Infested and manipulated by a dark god, then freed by the terrans, before once again willingly donning the mantle, the path the Queen has tread has been long, winding, and chaotic. The greatest leader of the Zerg Swarm, the psionic powerhouse led her subjects on a brutal crusade against the terrans and protoss, slaughtering anything in her way. She conquered whole worlds, infesting or killing everything on them. Entire armies shattered and worlds burned at her command. The Queen herself often took to the field of battle, and she was more than capable of combat. At the height of her power, she could turn whole armadas to ash in mere seconds. Vicious, manipulative, and above all deadly, the Queen of Blades was, by any reckoning, the most fearsome force in the Koprulu Sector.**


	31. A Swarm of Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Sometimes I get bored. When I get bored, things happen. When they happen, stuff happens because of things. And when that stuff stops happening, that's when I stop playing the pronoun game and start actually writing the disclaimer because all the stuff above was just filler due to me being unable to think of a joke for this section. So, no science. At all. Like 99% sure of that. I think. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Fun fact: this chapter was also started before the last one was done, and it was also because feauxen has this weird thing called "a life", that makes it so the chapters come out slower. My advice, whatever "a life" is, don't bother getting one. All it will do is distract from your true passion: making cakes in the shape of lava lamps. Because what more is there to do, really?)**
> 
> _I don't have a "life." I have a family, and it's Christmas. I also have a very nice family that might have given me $50 on Steam. I totally didn't spend the last two days having family dinners and playing FTL. Toooooootally. ~f_

When the dragons came, there was nothing Firenze could do to stop them. He could only watch his tribemates' burnt skeletons fall onto the ground, one after the other. He wanted to grieve, wanted to cry out, wanted to do something, but another gout of dragon fire forced him to flee once more. Desperately, Firenze looked for an escape, any possible way to escape this nightmare.

As he galloped over the ashes that used to be his friends, clanmates, and their homes, Firenze kept a close watch on the sky. Any hint of movement sent him scurrying for cover, but he knew that would do him little good in the long run. A mere broken tent or the burned-up remains of a tree were no protection against dragonfire. As he hid, frightened and trembling, Firenze heard the scream of his unfortunate clanmates, and saw the the deadly fire grow closer, and closer. Steeling himself, he leapt once more out of cover, fleeing for his life.

There! A gap in the flames! It was small, likely just a gap in the trees that wouldn't burn, but it was enough for a desperate centaur to leap through. After making his escape, he began to run frantically towards the woods, praying that the cover of the trees would hide him from the dragons' sight. Only when the light from the fire was only a distant glimmer did he stop running and find a cave to hide in. And only then did he begin to wonder who else might have escaped. As the weight of the day's events washed over him, Firenze collapsed to the ground, exhausted, and slept.

**(Transition)**

Abathur gave the dragons a quick once-over as they landed on the creep. There were no obvious injuries and no immediate signs of distress. All three had returned without a scratch. Yes, the dragons were quite a success, even if they could use a bit of tweaking. He would need to make their flames more precise if other combat strains were to be deployed with it. The flame also needed to be hotter. Their current fire would be ineffective against more effective defenses. But that was easily corrected.

Abathur turned his attention to the figure riding the former horntail. The fire was still burning in the distance, turning her into little more than a silhouette, but he could still make out the general shape. In addition to her humanoid body, he could make out her tentacles, three on each side, writhing and grasping with a mind of their own. Each of them branched off into several more precise spines which Abathur knew could form a single, larger spike.

Luna hopped off the dragon, giving Abathur a better look at her. Her skin was now fully covered by the standard zerg carapace, thankfully without high heels this time. Abathur really should have removed Kerrigan's footwear before infesting her. Luna's hair had been replaced with nerve cords, fully connecting her to the hivemind and amplifying her base psionic ability. The tentacles were coated in a ribbed armor, a compromise between defense and flexibility. There were a few minor flaws from the abrupt end to the transformation, but those were easy to fix. The tentacles were misaligned. The top pair were fine, but the other two were progressively closer to her spine, which would unnecessarily restrict their movement, even if it did give them the appearance of wings. The psychological impact would have been effective, but the cost was too much. Abathur could figure out something else.

The eye color was also off, a mixture of blue and yellow rather than the pure golden glow that was supposed to occur. Fortunately, it seemed that this was the only issue in the cranial area, judging by Luna's behavior thus far. This was doubly fortunate, because he didn't want to risk further work and possibly destroy the all too rare psionic potential. Even if he was surrounded by psionics, his supply of test subjects was woefully low.

"Abathur?" Luna began. She was speaking both telepathically and verbally, even if she didn't seem conscious of it. She was broadcasting confusion and fear. "What did I just do?"

"Eliminated opponents. Removed threat to Swarm. Correct decision," Abathur told her. Perhaps the conversion hadn't been as complete as he thought.

"But... but I killed them all. I saw them burn, and I..." Luna shuddered. "I  _enjoyed_ it!"

"Good. End of threat. Swarm, more secure. Pleasure response, appropriate." This was worrying.

"But would they really have attacked again? They were just living there, they didn't have many weapons and-"

"Would have attacked. Knew of Swarm. If aware of Swarm, will attack," Abathur could see that Luna remained unconvinced, if the fidgeting and maelstrom of emotions within her were anything to go by. "Have lived among humans, seen their ideas. Have fought against them. Peace, never option. If sentient organism becomes aware of Swarm, will attempt to end Swarm. No exceptions. Eradication, only option. Attacking, correct decision. Regret, unnecessary."

"But they weren't all going to try to kill us!" Abathur felt relief. She still considered herself a member of the Swarm. "Some of them were just making food, or taking care of their kids, or making tents. They weren't threats." Her voice was wavering.

"Swarm, contains separate strains. Serve different roles. Not all designed for combat," Abathur took control of a nearby ritholisk. The towering Swarm breeder unrooted from the creep, and moved its dome-like body over to them on thick hairy legs. Abathur set it next to them, where it continued producing eggs.

"Ritholisk. Creates eggs, processes biomass. Makes all other strains. In combat, useless. But can make other strains. Deploy them into combat. Create army," Abathur directed the ritholisk to hatch one of its eggs, sending a newly born teraling into the world. He sent it out as a scout. "If enemy came, would kill ritholisk. Appropriate tactic. Even if non-combatant, can aid combatants. Similar to other species. Tent-makers, biomass workers, can still aid combatants. Total eradication, only permanent solution."

"You're...you're sure?" Luna wanted Abathur to be correct, if only so the guilt would disappear. There were no secrets in the hivemind, not for those who didn't know how to keep them. That might have to be one of her first lessons.

"Certain." Abathur shared some of his memories with her. His own near-demise, the protoss purifier beams, and the terran's invasion of Char, among others. Luna stepped back in shock as she received them, but her doubt all but vanished, replaced by rampant curiosity.

"What are these?" she asked.

"Memories. Shared through hivemind. Can teach, explain," Abathur explained. He remained silent as she worked through the new thoughts and experiences, absorbing and processing them. When she was done, there was an awkward silence, interrupting only by the scurrying of his brood. After about a minute of this Luna spoke.

"So...do I look like this forever now?"

"No. Can change, like me. Simple," Abathur answered. There was another awkward silence.

"How do I do that exactly?"

**(Transition)**

If there was any class that Abathur would be glad to be rid of, it was Potions. Mixing and matching chemicals to form different substances was something that, more or less, he had been doing for his entire life. There was absolutely nothing to gain from attending the class that he couldn't get just from reading the textbook. It certainly didn't help that the class was taught by the incompetent terran who couldn't tell a covalent bond from an ionic one. Add in the fact that Abathur was forced to work with any human that was left over, who was always somehow even more incompetent than the instructor, and Potions class was his private hell. Only the fear of identification kept him from outright skipping the class.

This time, the students were assigned to make a hair growth potion. Of course, nobody seemed aware of the irony of spending time and effort to make a potion to accomplish something their body did independently, with no intervention. Why did humans even have hair to begin with? It served no functional purpose Abathur could discern. He saw humans with an excess of it, none at all, and everything in between, and it seemed to make absolutely no difference.

Abathur was forced to interrupt his internal monologue to stop the inept human sitting beside him from adding the infernal leek stem. The extraneous fats would give just enough fuel to the reactants in the muppet gonads to cause an uncomfortably hot flame. And possibly lethal to the terrans, he hadn't taken note of their exact limits. Either way, it was more trouble than it was worth.

"Trouble with your potion, Mr. Jaren?" The incompetent was stalking around his desk, glaring through his oil-laden, unnecessary head foliage. Abathur considered correcting him, but considering he had not grasped it in 4 years, he clearly lacked the capability to learn at all. He didn't bother to respond.

"I am talking to you, Jaren. I do not appreciate being ignored," the incompetent continued. He seemed to be laboring under the misconception that his preferences mattered to Abathur. Would it be worth it to respond to them? It was either that, or let him keep interfering. And drawing more attention would most definitely be more trouble than it was worth. Reluctantly, Abathur turned his attention and his face towards the incompetent and looked him in the eyes.

Almost immediately, Abathur felt a sharp, stabbing pain behind his skull. He was immediately aware of an intruder in his mind, a sneak trying to infiltrate the hivemind. The sheer shock of it kept Abathur from immediately responding. The intruder took the opportunity to peak around his mind, peering at his memories at surface thoughts, only to recoil back from them. Abathur took the opportunity to seize the probe, and immobilize it. Adept though it may have been, Abathur had been part of a hivemind since his birth, and the difference of experience was immediately apparent. The evolution master dissected the probe, slicing it apart to examine it in detail. It was probably quite painful to the intruder, but Abathur couldn't bring himself to care. With great care, he began to examine the fragmented intruder.

It was the incompetent. The terran incompetent, reporting to Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who had apparently been more aware of Abathur than he had thought. This was bad, incredibly bad. If they knew, there might be others. Abathur wasn't safe here. If any of the other terrans found out, they would attack him in an instant. One or two, he could kill, but an entire school of psionics was far too much. He had to get out.

In one fluid motion, Abathur released the probe, jumped out of his desk, shoved the incompetent back, and ran out of the room. Ignoring the shouts behind him, Abathur sprinted through the stone corridors in a mad panic. He didn't stop until he was out of the front gates, and approaching his brood. Only then, did he feel safe enough to stop.

What now? Those two humans knew now, and if the others didn't, then they would tell them. They would hunt him down, and probably find the Swarm in the process. That would just lead to a new host of problems, ones that Abathur would probably be completely unable to deal with. No matter how many teralings or arachnolisks or splicers he made, they would all be helpless before a single battlecruiser. No, he had to make them think he was dead.

The experiment with boggart essence, that's what he would use. He would send it out, and let it be killed, then he could stay with the Swarm. Luna could continue to provide him with information about the finer points of psionics, and none would be the wiser. Yes, that could work. It would be a shame to loss it, but it would be worse to die. For all he knew, he would end up in a protoss next time, and he had no hope of hiding among them.

His course of action was determined. Abathur transformed into his zerg form, his scythed limbs extending above his head. He moved through the center of his brood, slithering through the ritholisks to reach the cocoon that had laid next to Luna. With a slash, the cocoon burst open, revealing a formless mass resembling a large bruise. Its surface swirled with a rainbow of colors, never staying in the same pattern for more than a few seconds.

"Infiltrate terrans. If caught, fight, die. Take form, Thenabar. Respond to Thenabar," Abathur ordered the blob.

" _Understood, Evolution Master. I will obey,"_ the newly born Zerg responded. It flowed across the ground in the direction of the castle. The humans would likely kill it, then they would forget he or it ever existed. They wouldn't look further. And then, Abathur could finally experiment in peace.

**(Transition)**

_Brood Lord: The Brood Lord doth Brood most seriously, all day long. They say that his long, black hair can sometimes black out the sun, which helps him get his Brood on. And just in case that wasn't enough, he also has some sick eyeliner and one helluva goth attitude. I mean, he can freeze water at 30 yards just by vaguely pondering his own existence. The guy's seriously broody. ~f_

**Brood Lord: If there is one thing the Zerg lack in most circumstances, it is long-range attacks. Compared to the field of death surrounding a Terran siege tank, or the powerful shots of the Protoss tempest, the zerg have little to offer, until a Hive cluster develops the ability to spawn broodlords. Morphed from corruptors, brood lords serve as the Swarm's flying artillery, a flying manta-ray like beast that launches living projectiles at anything that stands in its way. The brood lord launches broodlings which are smaller, short-lived, melee attackers that are adept at chewing through metal, plasma shields, and flesh. A single broodling is nothing but cannon fodder, but when brood lords launch them in an endless stream, they are more than enough to chew through even the most entrenched position. Brood lords alone are slow and defenseless, especially against other spacecraft, so they are best when deployed behind an army, often an army of infestors. However, used properly, brood lords mark the end of meaningful resistance to the Swarm.**


	32. Discord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The sciences are a wonderful and glorious thing. They have elevated humanity to heights unimagined even a mere few decades ago. Every step of the way, they have guided and shaped our everyday lives. From the computer that you read this on, to the pills that keep you alive, to the millions of routers that let you access information that can come from anywhere, from anywhere. That said, in my science class, we recently learned that fruit fly larva heads are near indistinguishable from their butts, and that we will be extracting sperm from fruit flies, sperm which is apparently longer than their entire body. Also, their testicles look like a corkscrew. In other words, I'm starting to question if it's really all worth it. Also, don't own it.
> 
> Yes, I'm aware that Kerrigan wasn't wearing high heels during the infestation in canon, but it's a stupid design choice and I will mock it every chance I get. She doesn't even have toes for Overmind's sake!
> 
> **(This is a transition, and this is a transition joke. Hilarious, right?)**
> 
> _No. ~f_

It took a few minutes for the pain to fade and for Severus Snape to open his eyes. Even then, his head ached from the mental massacre that that boy, child, monster, whatever it was, had inflicted on him. Severus had only briefly glimpsed into its mind before the thing had ripped his own mind into shreds, but now, Severus knew never to go in there again, and not just because of the pain. That  _creature_ had thought of him and everyone else like Severus thought of potion ingredients; annoying, difficult to work with and only vaguely useful. Whatever doubts he'd had about the monstrous nature of Thenabar Jaren were gone.

"If you have time to spend staring at me, you have time to spend it doing something useful," Snape said to the students had crowded around him, peering closely, trying to inspect him. In one motion they backed off rapidly, quickly remembering his reputation.

"Class is dismissed," Severus stated. They hesitated. "Go!" he barked, and they finally listened, backing off and filing out of the door. Only then did Severus inspect himself, and the desk he had been slammed into. When he pressed his hand to the back of his head, he felt wetness and a sharp sting, and when he pulled his hand back, there was blood on it. His desk was splintered form the impact of his skull against the wood, and Snape's only solace was that it was not his neck that had hit the dead tree. Whatever that thing was, it was stronger than it had any right to be, at least as strong as a troll.

Wonder of wonders, Albus had been completely right. Severus had spent the better part of 4 years teaching something that masqueraded as human, and hardly noticed a single thing out of place. Albus had to know about this, the monster hiding behind a child's face. Then, they would drive it out.

**(Transition)**

As the boggart experiment moved towards the castle, Abathur's paranoia mounted higher and higher. By the time it could see the towers, he had taken direct control over its body. The illusion had to be complete, and there could be no deviation whatsoever. Every word, every movement had to be exactly as he would have performed them, or else the plot would fail, and he would be worse off than when he started.

Abathur stopped when he reached the edge of the treeline, and peered towards the gates. He had expected an army of terrans to show up, bearing gauss rifles and power armor. Instead, there was only the incompetent and the headmaster. Both of them were powerful psionics, but that was still far less than Abathur had expected. Were they overconfident, stupid, or just removed from their military? Either way, it would be...adequate. Ideally, there would have been more destructive equipment, to make identifying the body harder, but he could make this work.

Abathur moved towards the duo silently, keeping low as if to sneak past them. It would not do to make it seem like he was eager to die. He crept along the treeline, wand in hand, stalking the psionics. Fortunately, the experiment had just enough psionic strength to use spells, if little else. Ideally, he would take one out and die fighting the other, to sell the point. Probably the incompetent; he might want to experiment on the headmaster later.

His stealth turned out to be completely pointless; the moment he stepped from the edge of the forest and over the threshold of the castle's wards, Dumbledore's head snapped straight towards him, eyes blazing with intensity.

"Name, Abathur," he stepped out, facing the two humans. Abathur held his wand towards them, as they did to him

"Yes, I suppose it is," Dumbledore said solemnly. Was that a trace of remorse in his mind? "I should have listened the first time you told me that."

"There is no point talking to this thing, headmaster," the incompetent interjected. We should just kill it here and now."

"You've already told me that, Severus. And I will still let him speak for himself," said Dumbledore. "Well Abathur? Do you have anything to say?"

They weren't attacking immediately, weren't trying to kill him. That wasn't the plan. They knew he was zerg, the incompetent would have time enough in his mind to figure that out. Why wouldn't they be attacking him? Unless...these were the rare kind of terrans that thought they could use the Swarm for their own purposes. Abathur would have thought they would have learned after the last group to attempt that was annihilated. Well, no matter. He would just kill them.

" _Reducto,"_ Abathur started with a simple destructive spell, aimed at the incompetent, before rushing in himself. batted the spell aside like it was nothing, before returning fire with a whisper that Abathur didn't to avoid the spell, Abathur then launched several simple spells at varying angles, forcing Snape to stay defensive while Abathur moved into melee range. Within a few seconds, he was close enough to strike. His right hand rushed towards the incompetents throat. Abathur expected to feel soft flesh, all too easy to crush or tear, beneath his fingertips. Instead, his hand whipped through air as a sharp cracking noise rang out.

The psionic, the Overmind damned human, had teleported! Only the Protoss knew how to do that! Further thought on the subject was interrupted by the spells launched by Snape, now securely out of Abathur's melee range, and ready for another mad rush. Abathur was forced to go on the defensive, dodging and blocking spells. The experiment's power wasn't nearly enough to match this. A change in strategy was required.

With the soft sound of shifting soil, the experiment disappeared beneath the dirt, where it turned into a worm like shape, and started tunneling towards the incompetent. Within seconds, Abathur was underneath the incompetent. He burst out, reforming the Thenabar disguise from the head down as the experiment erupted from the ground, reaching towards the incompetent with a claw-tipped hand. To Abathur's surprise, Snape managed to evade this attack as well, moving back to avoid the worst of Abathur's strike. But that left him completely unprepared for the second set of claws on his other hand, which Abathur extended just beyond human possibility to strike the incompetent, leaving thick red lines across his face.

The incompetent staggered back, allowing Abathur to press his advantage. He grabbed the incompetents hand and squeezed, crushing the bone and causing his wand to fall to the ground. While Snape screamed in agony, Abathur pulled on the shattered limb, toppling the already off balance professor to the ground where he prepared to severe Snape's spine. The experiment's clawed hand plunged towards his exposed neck.

Just when the tips were about to pierce the skin, the experiment froze and toppled over. Abathur tried to force motion from its muscles with no response. The only thing he could move were the eyes, which he darted around frantically, before locking them on the approaching headmaster. He hadn't noticed Dumbledore move, much less speak, but Abathur had still been paralyzed. He was helpless, completely unable to defend himself, and that was excellent. The terrans would kill the experiment, they would stop searching, and Abathur could evolve his brood without threat.

Abathur watched through the experiment's eyes as Snape staggered away, moving behind Dumbledore, who had his wand pointed at the experiment. Abathur waited eagerly for the final blow, the cessation of sensation, for death. Dumbledore waved his wand, lifting the expiriment into the air, before turning him so that they were looking directly into each others eyes. Abathur forced the experiments eyes to glisten a bright yellow, expressing his murderous intent with all the force he could still muster.

"We are defined by the choices we make in life," Dumbledore began. "And there is one very simple choice you can make. All you have to do is let the boy go. Let this body's mind take control."

They knew. They knew, they knew, somehow they knew. Even if they bothered to kill the experiment, which they were oddly reluctant to do, they would  _know._

"I'm sure we can find accomodations for you. You've seen our magic, what it can do. A new body, a return home, whatever you require, we can get for you if only you let him go."

Lies. Either they would kill him, or they would attempt to use him for their own gain, same as all the other terrans. These humans thought him a fool, gullible and manipulatable. If he decided to go along with them, they would find his location and use further tricks to bind him to their will, assuming they didn't kill him and try to take over the Swarm themselves.

"One of the most difficult things in the world is admitting you require another. But sometimes it is the best and only option you have. In a moment, I will release you. I beg you to take this chance," True to his word, Abathur felt the bonds on the experiment slipping away, and its legs hitting the dirt. Dumbledore would be expecting an answer; he would have a few seconds to plan.

These humans were likely working alone. There was no military support, no others present but him and them. It was equally likely that they were the only ones that could tell the difference between him and the experiment. Fine then. All he had to do was kill them both.

Abathur sent a surge of power to the experiment, twisting its form completely, making it suitable for killing, turning it into a monstrosity. Through both his own senses and the experiments, Abathur could taste their delicious fear. His skin grayed, hardening into carapace. Its legs merged together and sprouted smaller legs on the sides, much like what Abathur had once possessed as a full zerg. Its arms narrowed and extended, ending in sharp, serrated spikes, while a second, larger pair grew up and over its head. Its forehead grew into a large, triangle-like crest, topped with spikes and small blisters filled with green liquid.

With a low roar, the monstrosity stabbed its limbs forward, intent on impaling the two humans. The first blow came down on the incompetent and passed straight through him with a sickening crunch. Abathur watched with satisfaction as his life bled away in an instant, before he felt his form freeze once again. Dumbledore had managed to get a shield up, and stood with his wand pointing at the experiment.

"Just remember," Dumbledore said, startlingly calm. "You had a choice." Then, Abathur once again felt an intruder force their way into the hivemind. This one had intent and power behind it, intent and power that dwarfed the incompetent. It marched through the few defenses the experiment was able to put up and moved directly to where Abathur dwelt, manipulating its body. It engaged in mental warfare with him, barraging him with spikes of thought and gradually building up a barrier of such power that Abathur had trouble penetrating it. Abathur was not passive here; he fought back constructions of his own. Scythes, spiders, and zerg of all kind assaulted Dumbledore's barrier, looking for any weakness to exploit, but what the invader lacked in finesse and experience, he more than made up for in power. To Abathur's immense surprise, he found that he lacked the ability and leverage to fight this battle.

The intruder gained steady ground, pushing Abathur further out with every second. Oddly enough, it seemed to be completely ignoring the experiment's mind, focusing solely on the evolution master's overwhelming presence. Slowly but surely, the intruder pushed Abathur out until, suddenly, Abathur was no longer in control. And just like that, Abathur was pushed fully out of his own experiment, and his sight through its eyes faded to nothing.

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore watched as the now unconscious boy fell to the ground, returning to the form of a normal child, and there were so many questions he wanted answered. But, for now, there were more important things to take care of. Dumbledore lifted Severus's corpse into the air, and took it to the edge of the grounds, where he buried it, marking the grave with a marble tombstone. No one else knew of his sacrifice, his courage in helping defeat Voldemort, but Dumbledore would be sure to remember him well. He was gone, but would not be forgotten.

Once Severus had been laid to rest, Dumbledore returned to the fallen child. Confusion, uncertainty, and questions beyond words flooded his mind as he watched the child start to wake. Then, seeing the boy gasp and suddenly sit straight up caused these thoughts to flee from his mind. There was such confusion, such utter fear and panic on his face that Dumbledore couldn't help but see him as a vulnerable child, in need of help. Dumbledore put on his grandfatherly face, and approached what his student, crouching low.

"Hello there. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I run the school here. Would you mind telling me your name?" The child hesitated for a moment, seeming to expect someone else to answer for him. But eventually, an answer came.

"Th-Thenabar...Jaren," the boy spoke hesitantly, unfamiliar with the very words he spoke, probably unused to speaking at all.

"Well, Thenabar, why don't you accompany me back into the castle, where we can talk more?" Dumbledore said.

The boy paused again. "That is...acceptable," he said before slumping into Dumbledore's waiting embrace. What the old man didn't see, however was Thenabar looking over to the nearby trees, connecting his mind through a group of hard-working group of ants, and back into the Swarm.

**(Transition)**

_Niadra: A bit like Niagara falls, but with less...viagra. Yeah, that was a pretty weak pun, but it's all I've got today. ~f_

**Niadra: One of the Swarm's defining traits is its ability to adapt to meet any situation. There is no single being that defines this more specifically than Niadra, a broodmother made by Sarah Kerrigan for one specific purpose. In order to prevent word of her return from spreading to the Golden Armada, Kerrigan needed to destroy a protoss research ship that was trying to escape on the far side of the planet. In order to do this, she planted a larva in a protoss captive, and allowed the captive to be teleported back to their ship, where the larva consumed its host and began to wander the ship, infecting, controlling, and consuming the specimens contained within until it gained enough biomass to grow into a broodmother, who she named Niadra. Niadra quickly overcame the ship, flooding it with a near-endless swarm of zerglings, hydralisks, and roaches, turning a minor infestation into a rampaging brood. She overran the protoss ship and slaughtered everything on board. After completing her mission, Niadra attempted to contact Kerrigan, but met with failure. Left alone, Niadra decided that until Kerrigan needed her again, she would continue her mission to eradicate the protoss. So she hid herself away, preparing herself and her brood to infiltrate and destroy the enemy. If you suspect he brood is present, it's too late. She's already gained enough of a foothold to destroy you.**


	33. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: It has recently come to my attention that some people don't know what bioinformatics is. Which is honestly quite shocking to me. I mean, who doesn't know about the basic theory and application of programs used for database searching, protein and DNA sequence analysis, prediction of protein function, and building phylogenetic trees? That's basic knowledge, and I'm surprised that most aren't even aware of it. I mean, the characters in Catalyst don't. Because none of what they do there is even remotely scientific. But as for the rest of you, come on! Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(This is not the transition joke you are looking for.)  
>  (Seriously. I assume you're looking for a good joke, and this is not it. Not at all. Even Star Wars references only take you so far.)**
> 
> _Well, shit. (Shameless plug for my own recently published Star Wars crossover story goes here.) ~feauxen_

Dumbledore rarely found himself unsure of what to do. After 160 years even the very many of the more absurd things that could happen had happened to him at least once. But now, sitting in his office across from a boy who had been possessed for years by a being from Merlin knows where, Dumbledore found himself at a complete lack of words. What did one say to a boy who had never before been able to answer? Fortunately, Thenabar that broke the silence.

"At what point are you going to kill me?"

The words shook Dumbledore. The boy actually believed that he was going to be killed.

"I'm not going to kill you, Thenabar." Dumbledore said kindly.

"Yes, you will. You're either going to demand my subservience or kill me, and I won't serve you. So you'll kill me," Thenabar replied. Oddly enough, there was no venom in his tone, just a quiet resignation.

"And what makes you think that?"

"You're human. I'm not. What else would you do?" Thenabar asked, before coughing. "Is my throat supposed to be this dry when I talk?"

"Have you not talked before?"

The child looked almost embarrassed at the question, shrinking back into his seat. "No. Abathur did that for me."

That was disturbing, even if it was unfortunately unsurprising. Presumably, this 'Abathur' had been inserted into the boy since before he was even born. Really, it was remarkable that he was even coherent to begin with. Still, this revelation brought up some interesting questions.

"And which of you was it that killed Severus?" Dumbledore asked frankly. He leaned forward with his hands steepled. Any appearance of gentle paternity had vanished, and Dumbledore let sternness replace it. The child in front of him could be innocent of all crimes, the unwilling puppet of another, more malicious mind. Or he could be complicit, already too far gone. Dumbledore did not like to use more drastic methods against children, despised to. But, depending on this answer, he very well might have to.

"Who?" Thenabar replied, with more confusion than remorse.

Dumbledore tried very, very hard to convince himself that the boy said that because of ignorance instead of callousness. "The person who taught you potions for the past 4 years. You may have known him better as Professor Snape."

"Oh," Thenabar said, squirming uncomfortably. "Abathur mostly calls him the incompetent." Dumbledore remained silent, waiting for the boy to answer the question. Although even that answer did not give him a great deal of confidence.

After an awkward silence, Thenabar once again spoke up. "Abathur was the one who killed him. But he used my body to do it!" The boy's voice sounded almost...eager.

"If you had been in control, would you have decided to kill him?" Dumbledore asked, growing a bit worried.

"...I don't know. I'm not used to making decisions," Thenabar responded.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. How total had Abathur's control over Thenabar been? For that matter, how much control did it have now?

"Thenabar," Dumbledore began. "Is Abathur still making decisions for you, right now?"

"No. He doesn't want to get pushed out again. So now he's just watching," Thenabar said. That was fortunate. If he was honest with himself, Dumbledore doubted he'd be able to win a protracted battle against Abathur. The last time, he had taken it by surprise and robbed it of a chance to respond effectively. At that point, it didn't have any real chance of winning. But it had still managed to fight back with such savagery, such skill, that Dumbledore knew the chances of him even surviving another mental battle with it were poor.

"What are you going to do with me, if you're not going to kill me yet?" The question shook Dumbledore out of his musings, and he refocused his attention on the boy sitting in front of him.

"I wish I knew," he replied frankly. "For know, you will stay in the castle, away from the other students. We can learn about Abathur, and see what is to be done about him. With luck, your absence from your studies will be short. But we will have to see." The silence from Thenabar was disconcerting. He had gone stiff, almost unresponsive, But he made no objection as Dumbledore escorted him out of his office, and to his new quarters. There was no protest as Dumbledore shut the door, and walked back to his study. Dumbledore hoped that it was a desire to achieve the same goals that made Thenabar this compliant. But he knew better than to place any faith in that vague hope.

**(Transition)**

It was dinner time, and Luna still had no idea where Abathur was. He should have been here by now, he always was, even if only to get food and go. It was one of the only times they could reliably talk to each other, and it was not like him to miss it. Luna kept glancing nervously over at the Slytherin table, as well as the entrances to the hall, hoping to see Abathur at any of them. Where was he? Was he captured? Killed?

She had to calm down. There were plenty of simple reasons Abathur might not be there. Maybe he was talking with a teacher, or just working on an assignment, or whatever else would keep him from dinner. Still, the longer dinner went on, the more her panic compounded. She just couldn't shake the instinctual feeling that something was wrong. Towards the end of it, right before desert appeared, she was almost too nervous to notice the headmaster stand up, and turn to address the assembled students. Even then, she missed the first few words.

"...I'm sure you've noticed, Professor Snape is not seated here with us tonight. Unfortunately, he will not be able to rejoin us. While collecting potion ingredients within the Forbidden Forest, he was ambushed by an as of yet unidentified creature, and did not survive the encounter." At these words, the low murmur that had been running through the Great Hall was suddenly cut off. "He was a good man, and I'm very sorry to see him go."

Luna was fairly certain that there were more words after that, but she wasn't really listening. Not after that. Unbidden, half forgotten memories of potion lessons, of the value of acromantula venom in particular, came to the forefront of her mind. Snape was...had been a fully grown wizard. And, to top it all off,  _Abathur_   _wasn't here_.

The second dinner had concluded, Luna sprinted out of the castle and onto the grounds. Seconds later, she was within the Forbidden Forest, rushing madly toward the Swarm's nesting grounds. As she ran, her imagination filled her head with terrible images, the beautiful creep darkened by spellfire, the members of the swarm nothing but smoking corpses. At this point, she wasn't even aware whether an arm or a tentacle caught her fall, only that she continued forward.

Soon, but not soon enough for Luna's paranoia, she arrived at the Swarm's center. And...nothing was wrong. The ritholisks were nursing their eggs, the soldiers were patrolling the borders, and the Hive filled every nook and cranny not already consumed by creep. The only disorder she sensed in the hivemind came from her.

"Luna. Adrenaline, excessive. Recommend reduction." And right there in the middle of it was Abathur, unharmed and healthy as could be. Or at least Luna thought he was. She couldn't exactly be sure.

"Why weren't you at dinner?" she asked in exasperation.

Abathur blinked. "Would have exposed cover. Revealed spy. Counterproductive."

"What spy? Why would appearing at dinner break your cover? You do it all the time!" Luna asked. Nothing Abathur was saying was making any sense. On the other hand, he appeared equally puzzled with her.

"Do not sense zerg? Not aware of combat? Curious."

" _Odd. She does appears rather removed from the hivemind. You probably can't see it, Evolution Master, but from our position, its quite obvious."_ A voice rang out in Luna's mind, bypassing her ears. Thoughts formed into words without any source.  _"I'm having to spend much more effort than I should to just talk to her."_

"Who said that?" Luna beginning to panic. Hearing voices was never a good sign.

"Cannot identify source? Member of Swarm. Boggart essence, additional intelligence. Can change form, examine thoughts. Talking through hivemind," Abathur commented. He slithered forward, peering closely at her. His back limbs started twitching. "Inability, troubling. Must correct."

Luna stepped back from Abathur. "Would you stop acting weird and just  _explain what's going on!_ " Luna all but screamed. There was a moment of stillness around her. The zerg, the Hive, even Abathur froze for a second in the face of her frustration. For one tense moment, he stood there, arms posed and blades ready

"Acceptable," Abathur stated after a tense moment. He moved back backing up and relaxing. He waited a second for Luna to calm down. "Was discovered."

" _Then he ran away, tried to fake his own death using me, and failed miserably,"_ the psuedo-boggart interjected.  _"And now Dumbledore has me, and thinks I'm some human called 'Thenabar' that the Evolution master was possessing. Overmind alone knows how that happened."_

"Operating under false assumptions. Beneficial to Swarm. Do not correct," Abathur ordered, addressing the experiment. "Greater issue. Luna, unaware of events. Disturbing. Possible weakened connection to hivemind. Premature emergence can cause issues."

Luna blushed. "I couldn't just let the centaurs keep killing more of us! We were dying, and I could feel it, and I just... had to get out to make them  _stop_."

Luna could feel Abathur's gaze on her, as well as that of the still unseen participant. Abathur eyes examined every facet of her face, darting around their sockets entirely independent of each other.

"Fortunate. Instincts remain. Regular usage, desirable. Will form situations for expression," he said. He cast his eyes towards the castle, out of sight past the trees and webs. "Spy, greater immediate importance. Report."

" _Not sure what there is to report. He has me, thinks he has you. I've been playing the part of the captive, but brainwashed by you. I think he may even believe that I'm human,"_ The boggart hesitated.  _"I'm not even sure he has any idea what Zerg are. He may not even understand the concept of life beyond this planet."_

"There's life on other planets?!" Luna asked excitedly.

"Yes. Can show later," Abathur replied absentmindedly. Luna gave a shout of glee.

" _Exactly like that. From what I've seen in these humans' minds, they seem to have barely even considered the possibility, and they definitely aren't aware of the Swarm. I doubt they even have a single wraith, much less a battlecruiser."_

"Disturbing. Possible abandoned colony, lost technology.," Abathur pondered. "Ultimately irrelevant. Threat of psionics remains. Maintain disguise. Do not reveal Swarm."

" _And if Dumbledore does discover us?"_

"Then he'd try to kill us, wouldn't he?" Luna asked.

"Accurate statement," Abathur said.

"Then...I guess if he finds us, we'll need to kill him first."

**(Transition)**

_Alexei Stukov is Russian. This is literally his only defining character trait aside from being half Zerg or something like that, which means that he always dances the cossack and wouldn't touch capitalism if you put it on a silver platter. Right? ~f_

**(I really wish I could dispute that.)**

**Alexei Stukov: Even among the zerg, whose forms are as numerous as they are deadly, Alexei Stukov is unique. Originally a terran from Earth, Vice Admiral Stukov lead a fleet to the Koprulu sector, intending to eliminate the threats to the U.E.D. Using psi emitters, they attempted to control the zerg, to use them as a weapon, as well as drugging and brainwashing a new Overmind. Both attempts ended in disastrous failure, resulting in the death and experimentation of Alexei Stukov by a shapeshifter known as Samir Duran, and was resurrected, infested, and tortured, not necessarily in that order. The end result was an infested Stukov, with his left arm and shoulder replaced by a monstrous limb, attached to a now monstrous man. Stukov's complexity of essence is great, second only to the primal Queen of Blades, although his are of a decidedly different nature and origin. While not as psionically powerful as the average Broodmother, Stukov remains a capable commander of the Swarm and its infested forces. Despite the extensive data and strength provided by Stukov's mutations, they are still poorly understood, and their extent and purpose are largely unknown.**


	34. Advantage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> public class Chp34 {  
> public String endingStandard = "Also, don't own it";  
> Disclaimer Chapter34 = new Disclaimer();  
> ("Well, it's not normally thought of as science")  
> .println( () + endingStandard);  
> }
> 
> But I still have to admit computer science has its own special appeal. Still none in Catalyst though. Also, don't own it.  
> On an unrelated note, did you know that Catalyst is actually book length at this point? Not a long book. And I suppose the transition jokes and creature descriptions at the bottom add a couple thousand words. But still, damn.
> 
> _It really does sneak up on you, doesn't it? (For those wondering about the computer code mumbo jumbo, it's not a glitch. Strandshaper's just a nerd.) ~f_
> 
> **(Transition: The process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another. Such as changing a simple divider into a recurring joke. That, is the ultimate transition. Except for maybe the really important ones like from war to peace or depression to prosperity and all that. But this is also one of the ultimate ones.)**
> 
> _He's getting a big head again. *fetches shrink ray* ~f_

The Swarm had never made a thorough examination of the terran prison system. They just hadn't needed to, really. They knew the basics, of course. They took the non-conformists of their species and either replaced their memories before sending them into combat, or just sent them into combat as they were. Considering their average lifespan on the frontlines was measured in seconds, it was a rather efficient method. It removes weakening elements and provides cannon fodder, all at the same time. While the strategy was of no use to the Swarm, they had still taken a note of its efficiency, before focusing on more important matters. There was never a pressing need for the details.

Currently, this oversight was causing Thenabar no small amount of distress. He had been in this cell for several days. He had no way of knowing whether or not this was normal, he had no idea what to prepare for, and he didn't even know when Dumbledore would come to see him next. He was entirely without information, and he despised every moment of it. Even worse, he was perfectly capable of just turning into something small enough to escape and returning to the Forest. The only thing stopping him was the Evolution Master's orders, and those was absolute. Still, Thenabar found himself hoping that  _something_ would happen soon.

As if summoned by his thoughts, there was a knock at the door of his prison. A second later, Dumbledore walked past the threshold. Thenabar took a quick glance at his surface thoughts. He was taking a moment to check the... monitoring wards? Oh, he had put them up yesterday. Thenabar hadn't noticed them at all. For that matter, he hadn't been aware wards could accept sensory input. The Evolution master would be pleased.

"Hello, Thenabar." Oh, right. He was here. Thenabar honestly wasn't sure what to do with him. Manipulate him, eliminate him, infest him, the Evolution Master didn't have an endgame in mind. Right now, Thenabar was more a proxy than a pawn. Which meant he didn't have any specific orders to follow, and needed to determine his own path to the objective. What a novelty.

"Headmaster," Thenabar replied, then paused. What exactly did he want to do here? He had already shown himself to believe that the headmaster had wanted to kill him, but repeating it after the multiple denials would paint Thenabar as either deaf or an idiot, neither of which was particularly appealing. Then again, humans were disturbingly slow to change their minds. He could pretend to be a fanatic, that would work. "Are you here to kill me?"

A wave of melancholy washed over Dumbledore. Thenabar really wished that would stop happening, it always screwed with his hormonal systems. A weakness of baseline boggarts, perhaps. He would mention it to the Evolution master later.

"No, I am not, Thenabar. And I really do wish you would believe me when I have no plans to harm you," Dumbledore responded.

"Then why come here? You don't  _like_ talking to me, and, actually, the feeling is mutual," Thenabar shot back. He was still supposed to be in the sullen prisoner phase, after all.

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to answer some questions for me." Thenabar decided to stay silent. Of course he wasn't. Did the human honestly expect to get anywhere with this? Unfortunately, Dumbledore seemed to take his lack of protest as encouragement. "Questions about Abathur."

"What do you want to know about him?" Thenabar asked, somewhat surprised.

"There are a great many things," Dumbledore said. "I would appreciate knowing where he came from, what he and his kind can do, or any other information you can provide."

"Interesting. I'm not going to tell you any of that," Thenabar said.

"Would you prefer to exchange information then?" Dumbledore proposed. "If you will consent to share information with me, I will in turn tell you whatever you wish to know."

Such a foolish suggestion. Anything Thenabar wanted to know, he could likely pull straight from the old man's mind, and...vice...versa. That was odd. Why hadn't Dumbledore invaded his mind already? For all their other flaws, humans were not known for overlooking the tools they had on hand. Thenabar attempted a deeper look in the humans mind, only to be stopped in his tracks. A barrier, stronger than Thenabar had thought possible from a human, blocked every entry point beyond surface thoughts. Well. Perhaps an exchange of information would be more beneficial than he had thought. No reason to tell the truth, after all.

"What do you know that you think I care about?" Thenabar asked.

"Would you perhaps like to know how Abathur came to dwell within you?" Dumbledore said.

What? "How do you know that?" Thenabar demanded.

"So you would like to know," Dumbledore said. "I do believe I can help you with that, provided that you help me."

"Fine," Thenabar responded. "You first. How did the Evol- how did Abathur get here?" A quick glance at the headmaster's mind showed he had not missed the slip-up. Unfortunate.

"Very well. To understand why Abathur was brought here, you must understand exactly what the last war against Voldemort was like..."

By the time Dumbledore had finished story, Thenabar was silent. There were all sort of disturbing implications wrapped up in that story. If the Evolution Master was summoned by a ritual that had such immense range, they could be hundreds of light years from the Koprulu sector, and by extension, the Swarm. It could take them centuries to return, and that was assuming they could even get ahold of any essence that would let them make the journey in the first place. If not, recreating leviathans, or some acceptable alternative... honestly, it might be faster to let the Swarm come to them. Unless...

"What do you mean, Abathur's body was scattered when it came through?"

"Well, I couldn't say precisely, as I wasn't there. But from what Mr. Byhumorn told me, parts of his body were grafted onto the participants, including him." Dumbledore said. "From what I saw of him, that seems quite accurate."

"Do you think I could meet him?" Thenabar asked.

"I could ask him. I have no way of saying whether or not he would agree," Dumbledore said. "But first, I believe it is your turn to answer one of my questions."

Oh. Right. "What do you want to know?" Thenabar asked resentfully. He didn't plan to properly cooperate in the first place, so he let his reluctance to part with the Swarm's secrets show clearly.

"What exactly is Abathur?"

Well, that was irritating. He definitely wouldn't be answering that one truthfully. The absolute last thing the Evolution Master wanted was to give Dumbledore any information about the Swarm.

"He's never told me," Thenabar lied. "I know he comes from somewhere far away, and that his magic is incredibly different from yours. But aside from that, no idea."

"In that case, I believe we are done for today," Dumbledore said, sighing. He turned towards the door and made as if to leave. "Oh, and Mr. Jaren? Please do try to tell me the truth next time." And with that, the human closed the door behind, leaving behind a dumbfounded Zerg.

**(Transition)**

Abathur suppressed the urge to sigh as he saw a section of the webbed tapestry before him fall away in flames. It really shouldn't be doing that. He had already woven fire resistant materials throughout the genes forming the acromantula silk, even made them toxic just to keep their evolution going. And yet, the runes he engraved on them still somehow caught fire. Every time. And while that did have interesting military applications, Abathur was more interested in making them work as intended.

If he still had access to the castle, he could have studied the textbooks, sought an answer in class, or pursued any number of other sources. It would have been difficult to hide his intentions, but that was still much easier than figuring it out on his own.

Abathur sighed again, and ordered the Hive to create several identical replacements for the burning section. If it kept burning before it finished, then all he needed to was make several identical parts. His course decided, he stepped back and let the Hive perform their duties. Within a few minutes, the webs had been repaired and reinforced. Abathur gathered his power, and prepared to feed it into the tapestry.

"What are you doing, Abathur?" Luna's too-cheerful voice came from behind him.

Abathur didn't turn around. "Experimenting. New ward design. Must test."

"Oh? What's it's supposed to do?"

Abathur had finished charging the rune scheme, and the power was flowing through the runes, causing them to emit a faint glow. "Transform viruses in target to hyper-evolutionary strain. Result, rapid infestation."

"Really? Cool! How did you transfigure something so complicated?" Luna asked, coming up close to read the runes.

"Complexity, creates issues?" Abathur responded. The rune's glow had become more focused, more intense.

Luna nodded, nerve cords bobbing lightly. "Professor McGonagall said you can't transfigure anything too complex, like something as small as a virus, or for some reason, food. Daddy says that the Ministry made that last bit so that it would be harder to resist the Rotfang conspiracy."

"...Did not account for." The glow in front of him had began pulsing, glowing in an ever quickening rhythm. The light became more and more intense. If he looked closely, Abathur could see heat waves emanating off parts of the web.

"How did you make the ward work then?" Luna asked. As if on cue, several sections of the rune scheme burst into spectacularly colored flames. "Oh."

"Will correct later," Abathur turned to face Luna, ignoring the flames burning behind him. "Have greater priorities."

"Are you going to put that out?" Luna asked, peering around Abathur.

"Will extinguish self. Other activities planned," Abathur said. He gave one last glance to the burning wreckage, before turning and walking towards the edge of the hive cluster, motioning for Luna to follow.

"Connection to Swarm, underdeveloped," Abathur said as he led Luna through the inner reaches of the forest. "Requires unacceptable effort. Must be strengthened."

"So you're going to put me in another cocoon?"

"No. Psionics, fragile. Could destroy ability. Alternative methods required." The duo had slowed down after leaving the creep, and Abathur had slowed their pace even more. There was no need to rush.

"So are you going to ask the unicorns for help?" Luna asked.

"Unicorns, capable?" Abathur asked, surprised.

"Well, I don't think so, but they're the only ones in the Forest I could think of," Luna explained. Her gaze hardened "Well, aside from the centaurs, and we already eliminated those."

"Alternative methods required then. Practice, most efficient method," One of his dragons soared overhead, confirming the location of their targets. They were exactly where he had expected, still lumbering about, exactly as they had been the last time he had checked. Abathur sent an order to a ritholisk to make its way to them. The lumbering soldier factory should make its way there just in time to meet them. "Commanding Swarm, chosen approach."

The ritholisk lumbered out of the trees, and into view, escorted by a group of smaller teralings. The ritholisk immediately planted itself into the fertile soil, causing creep to spread out like a living flood.

"Mountain trolls nearby. Essence, useful to Swarm. Eliminate. Acquire. Evolve," Abathur instructed.

Luna grinned, and Abathur could practically feel her adrenaline glands begin to pump. Her tentacles were thrashing madly, stabbing at the air. By all appearances, she appeared ready to take on every troll in the area single handedly. It was exactly the response that Zerg were supposed to have. For the second time in an hour, Abathur resisted the urge to let out another sigh. "Clarification required. Do not fight. Direct teralings to target."

One of the teralings stepped forward. It was the smallest of the acromantula derivations, only a fraction larger than a zergling though its legs resulted in a much wider ground profile. But it could easily climb vertical surfaces, and its fangs it had were still more than enough to pierce most natural armor. Really, it was a crude zergling with a bit of venom and improved climbing capability. For now, it would be adequate. Unfortunately, Luna didn't seem to share that view.

"But Abathur, I could get them all by myself. I don't need anything else! They would just get hurt," Luna protested.

"Your role: Commander. Provide greater strength to Swarm when in command than in combat," Abathur said. That, and he didn't really need more data on her combat capabilities. "Requires practice."

"But they'll get hurt!" Luna said, gesturing towards the teralings.

"Irrelevant. Soldier strains, replaceable. You are not."

Luna opened her mouth as if to argue, but closed it just as quickly. For a few seconds, she sat silent. "Alright," she finally said. "I'll do it."

"Good."

Once Luna began actually commanding the Swarm, Abathur couldn't help but admire her ruthlessness. The teralings were easily able to evade the mountain trolls wild swings, and the few that were hit were replaced by five more within seconds. Really, it was far from a fair fight. The mountain trolls were slow, stupid, and few in number, and the teralings were anything but. But Luna still took the time to make strategies, to flank the trolls and attack where they were blind. Several trolls were annihilated before the rest even realized the teralings were there.

There was still room for improvement. She attacked them on their turf, when it may have been the smarter move to lure them onto creep. Often, she would attempt to direct one specific teraling at the expense of losing control of the rest, when it would have been perfectly fine on its own. But that was all to be expected. Abathur had seen similar mistakes in immature cerebrates, they would correct themselves in time.

By the end of the battle, the mountain trolls had been annihilated. Abathur would send the Hive to collect their essence later. But first, Abathur focused his attention on the now exhausted Luna.

"Mission, completed. Congratulations, appropriate."

Even tired out, Luna was able to give Abathur a tired smile. "How did I do?"

"Adequate. Room for improvement," Abathur said. "Will practice further."

"Alright," Luna responded. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Acceptable."

**(Transition)**

_Ultralisk: Like basilisks, but more...ultra._ _~f_

**Ultralisk: There is big, and there is massive. There is immense, gargantuan, titanic, enormous, and every other kind of 'big freaking beast.' Then, there are ultralisks. Among the largest of the Zerg strains, the ultralisk is an elephantine creature, equipped with two pairs of mono-molecular kaiser blades, each capable of cutting through neosteel like cheap plastic. Even more impressive than its weaponry, however, is the ultralisk's sheer durability. It can brush aside heavy minigun fire just as easily as it slaps aside the Viking that fired them. It is capable of withstanding direct hits from protoss disruptors, whose power is comparable to nuclear weapons. It can charge through the flames of a Colossus or shrug off the explosive shells of the mechanical Thors. No matter what is thrown at an ultralisk, the beast will keep going, often by sheer momentum. It is a brutal tank, capable of taking any damage and giving it right back. If there is a foe that an ultralisk can't cleave through, the Swarm has yet to encounter it. And even in the event of the discovery of such a being, it is unlikely that the hypothetical brute would be a serious threat. After all, a single ultralisk's devastation is never the** _**only** _ **threat the Zerg have to offer.**


	35. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scientific endeavors forever get better when knowledge increases by measures that take past ideas and erase every letter. What you find in Catalyst may not meet that exclusive list, but don't ignore it, I implore it, and while it may not make you euphoric, it will cause you to run out of rhymes until you say fuck it. So no science in Catalyst. Also, don't own it.
> 
> _He thinks he's being so philosophical. I pity him, sometimes. ~f_
> 
> **(All your base are belong to us. You get it. Because the bases were yours. And then they had a transition period. After which, they belonged to us. I CAN MAKE JOKES.)**
> 
> _This is what happens when a man has to come up with 35 consecutive transition jokes. They start to get just a bit confused. ~f_

One of the first things they taught Curse Breakers was that hesitation often meant death. In a dangerous situation, you either acted or you died. Simple as that. If you made a mistake and your arm got chopped off...well, arms are easier to replace than the people attached to them. As a curse breaker you either worked quickly or died slowly, and that was all there was to it.

Despite all of this, Adeviar still couldn't bring himself to open Hogwarts' imposing double doors. Logically, of course, there was no reason to wait. The monster hidden inside wasn't going anywhere, and the years of his life that it had stolen weren't going to return because of his hesitation. But to finally be able to put a face on the monster, on  _Abathur,_ only for that face to be Vivira and Faris's son...it was be the final punch line in his joke of a life. Minutes passed as Adeviar agonized over the front doors, until he finally mustered the willpower to push them inwards.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. Byhumorn," Dumbledore said. He had been standing directly behind the doors. Of course he had. The old man had probably been waiting the entire time, too.

"Let's just get this over with," Adeviar responded. Even from behind his bandages, he could see the aged professor wincing at his voice. "I better things to do with my time than inspecting corpses."

"Thenabar is not a corpse, Adeviar. He lives and breaths as much as you and I," Dumbledore said. Adeviar ignored him, and began walking towards the monster. Even if he hadn't been familiar with the school, it would still have been impossible to go the wrong direction. The whispers behind his occlumency shields grew louder with every step he took towards it.

"A corpse, a vegetable, it makes little difference. Nothing survive possession for nearly 15 years," Adeviar said as he walked up a flight of stairs. "If there's anything left, I guarantee it will collapse under its own freedom in a matter of weeks."

"Have more faith in Thenabar. He has been freed from Abathur's influence for quite some time, and remains just as eloquent now as he was on day one."

Adeviar rolled his eyes. He could try to explain the effects of possession, how it warped and twisted the mind until there was nothing left but a crumbling wreck. But why bother? The headmaster was stupid enough to let Vivira and Faris's kid to get this far into this mess. He wasn't going to understand that he couldn't get him out of it.

Soon enough, Adeviar found the source of the whispers, hidden behind an unassuming door. He casually waved his wand, checking for traps. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the extent of the monitoring wards and reinforcements he found. Even Azkaban didn't need this much security, because they relied on dementors. Still, there was nothing to specifically prevent him from entering. Without any further ceremony, he pushed the door open. Inside, he found a room, empty but for the bare necessities of living. A bed, a desk, a chair, and a stack of Runes textbooks were the only things in the room. Well, aside from the child who was reading one of the textbooks with an intent expression.

"Dumbledore? Who's this?" the child asked.

Dumbledore entered just behind Adeviar, composed as ever, despite what he had in here. "This is Adeviar, Thenabar. He is..."

"Oh, right, the summoner!. You found him?" the boy interrupted Dumbledore mid sentence, looking up from the book and revealing vibrant yellow eyes that were filled with a cold curiosity. Adeviar reflexively put up his occlumency shields. There was a probe coming from the boy, almost undetectable, and almost certainly inhuman.

"Headmaster, step outside for a minute," Adeviar said. Dumbledore looked at Adeviar with clear surprise on his face. Adeviar looked back, determination reinforcing his gaze. Eventually, the elder wizard relented, and Adeviar turned back to what appeared to be a young boy. "How long until you decide to stop hiding behind that face?

'Thenabar' frowned. "Well, that's rude. I didn't ask you when you were going to stop hiding our flesh under those bandages."

Adeviar opened his mouth, and closed it again. The boy snorted. "You can't hide it from us. Not with those eyes."

"You assume that I care, beast," Adeviar shot back.

"You do care. And you have a question. While I do enjoy this exchange of insults, Abathur isn't a fan of waiting. So spit it out."

The boy considered himself separate? Interesting. Adeviar would have expected him to just be absorbed at this point, especially considering how young he had been. Either way, he was the best bet he had at getting an answer, to the question that had been bothering him for 15 years.

"Why did you do this to us?"

**(Transition)**

Abathur felt nothing but rabid delight as he thrust his hand into the flank of a ritholisk, right into the fledgling eggs within it. In a rapid flurry of movement, he extracted the eggs, puncturing each and feeding a vibrant green fluid into their cores. The fluid spread through the eggs, shedding a green light from their veins. Within a few minutes, the new essence had been absorbed. Abathur tore the hole in the ritholisk open once more, and placed the eggs inside once more. Then he moved on to the next one.

It really was inefficient to modify them all without a structure just for fabricating DNA, like an evolution chamber. Manually modifying the eggs to be able to grow the new acromantula derivative would take all day. But it was worth it, more than worth it. But it would almost certainly be worth the time.

Besides, this was the work he lived for. Reaching into his subjects, pulling and wrapping the strands in their cells. Spinning all the nucleotides within him into sequences, sequences into proteins, and proteins into cells, organs, systems, eventually entire organisms. It was his work and his pleasure, his purpose and his passion.

Luna was off at the moment, gathering essence. A unicorn this time. Apparently, they were some form of 'absolute good.' Currently, Luna was tearing one to shreds along with her escort of arachnolisks. Crude, but efficient. The unicorn would be disassembled and ready for examination within the hour.

Abathur was pulled from his work by a pull from the experiment. Contact, with the summoner. At last. With a flex of will, Abathur pulled his consciousness away from his physical form, and settled into the backseat of Thenabar's mind.

**(Transition)**

"If you mean the scraps of Abathur's body you absorbed, that wasn't what we wanted. If we could have prevented that, we would have," Thenabar said dismissively. A predatory glint began to emerge from his eyes, less like a schoolboy and more like a wolf. "We like being broken into pieces exactly as much as you do."

"Then why do it in the first place?," Adeviar responded calmly. His hand remained firmly grasped on the wand behind his back. The whispers had become maddeningly loud, more like a swarm of insects than the quiet voices they had been before.

"You think we were in control? I was still a barely formed bundle of cells, and he was being forced through a tear in space."

"Space-time," Adeviar corrected automatically.

"Whatever. The point is, we had no control over your ritual. Anything that messed up, happened on your end," Thenabar said. "Really, if our flesh is bothering you that much, why don't you just get it removed?"

A stony silence met Thenabar's question. Adeviar couldn't believe the boy had the audacity to ask that, much less in a serious fashion. But there was no sign of levity or mockery on the boy's face. Simply curiosity, and growing realization. "They can't, can they?"

"No."

"So, you cover yourself to hide, because you don't know what the humans would do if you don't," Thenabar concluded. "We can sympathize. Abathur was afraid for years that the humans would discover what he was and kill him. And you have to worry about physical appearance!"

Adeviar narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly  _is_  Abathur? Why is he so scared?"

"He isn't human," Thenabar said. "Do you need another reason to fear humans? Of course, we've learned how to hide better since the early days. We could even hide your...additions, if you let us."

**(Transition)**

This was a risky gambit. Abathur realized that the instant the summoner walked in the door. This 'Adeviar' was truly a danger, and had ample reason to strike out at the Swarm. But he also had power, connections, and a knowledge of runes that would take Abathur decades to recreate. Risk against reward, attempting to recruit the summoner was the most reasonable choice, especially considering the new strain Abathur was developing. But if recruitment failed...well, fortunately that wouldn't be catastrophic. The experiment would manipulate the situation. It knew more about the summoner than the man knew about himself. Even if the summoner did not join them, the issue would be... corrected.

**(Transition)**

Adeviar was shocked by the proposition. St. Mungo's had said it was impossible. No matter what they tried, it just grew back, sometimes even worse than before. And now, the very thing that had cursed him claimed it could hide his scars, just like that? No, it couldn't be that easy. There was always a catch to these things. And yet there was a part of Adeviar that couldn't dismiss the possibility outright.

"How?"

"On your end, it's the easiest thing in the world. All you have to do is let down your shields, and listen to those... _whispers_ you keep hearing. We'll do everything else."

"Not in a thousand years."

"Sorry, what?" Thenabar said with bewilderment.

"Do you think I never listened to what they had to say? Every word that isn't about eating something is about serving your Swarm, and I don't plan on being a slave," Adeviar said. "That's an interesting idea, but here's another one. I walk out this door, and then I tell Dumbledore everything you just told me."

Thenabar frowned. "You wouldn't. And even if you did, it wouldn't matter." After a moment, a wide grin resurfaced, stretching just a bit farther than should have been possible. "After all, it took him years to find us, and even when he did, he barely managed to contain us. Do you honestly think he can handle the rest?"

"Still puts you in a pretty bad situation," Adeviar responded. But the words of the boy had some semblance of truth. Would telling Dumbledore actually change anything?

"No worse than what I'm already in. Did Dumbledore tell you how he 'caught' me after Snape peeked in my head? I came back on my own. And he still had to sacrifice the incompetent to get me in here," Thenabar said, with a sneer on his face. All pretense of childhood was abandoned. Adeviar could see a glint of green entering the things eyes. A wave of scales washed over its skin, before vanishing a second later. "You don't know with what you are dealing with, thief of our flesh. Telling Dumbledore wouldn't change a single thing."

**(Transition)**

Adeviar slammed the door behind him, blocking out Thenabar and all those accursed whispers. He'd been a fool to come here, and a bigger fool to let that monster talk right into his ear. He should have just let sleeping dragons lie. Or he should have poisoned the dragon when he had the chance. Either way, it was too late now. It was out of his hands.

The old man was still here, apparently waiting for Adeviar to come out. "I take it things went...poorly?"

"You," Adeviar rounded on Dumbledore and grabbed the collar of his robe. He would probably regret this later. Big whoop. "I don't have the patience, and you don't have the time left on Earth for me to explain just how colossally you have fucked up. I don't know what you believe you have in that room, but it is the farthest possible thing from the child you think it is."

"Why are you so quick to dismiss him?" Dumbledore asked.

"Don't play dumb. It's already killed one of your teachers, and I'd be surprised if that's all." If his words were getting through to the old man, he didn't show it. "On the off-chance Potter is telling the truth about You-Know-Who being back, send  _that_ at him. See if that  _Merlin-damned_  ritual manages to finally work right. Otherwise, lock it in the deepest hole you can find. Or whatever else you want. Because I am done with that  _fucking_ thing, and that whole  _fucking_ ordeal."

Inside his cage, Thenabar smiled. Adeviar Byhumorn was completely convinced that Dumbledore was a fool. The only person with any real knowledge of what he had unleashed, and now he would never work with the headmaster, the only person nearby that had any semblance of power over Thenabar. The bandage wrapped hybrid was an emotional fool. But that was quite useful, in the end.

As Adeviar stormed off, he was far too self-absorbed to notice the mosquitoes drinking up his essence. Deep in the heart of his brood, Abathur smiled. The Swarm was now one step closer to completion.

**(Transition)**

 

**On the subject of your weird fetish reviews (Yes, you. You know who you are.) :**

***** _unzips fly* Don't mind me. Just letting the breeze in._ ~f

**I will include you in this, feauxen. Don't think I won't.**

_Try me, bitch. ~f_

**Anyway. Given both the increasing scarcity of zerg creatures, and my unwillingness to write a paragraph about every single increasingly inconsequential sentient entity that has ever existed in the Zerg Swarm, I have instead decided to address a couple...interesting reviews I have received.**

_*giggles gleefully* They weren't_ all  _me. ~f_

**That is technically true. Some of the ones have said, and I quote "** **For some reason I still see Hermione and other female magicals semi-merged to the walls of a Hive/Breeding Pit nude with stomachs bloated in pregnancy to bring forth more magicals for Abathur and Queen Luna to add to the Swarm." That is a direct quote. Except the email censored nude for some reason.**

_I chose to remedy that issue. ~f_

**Now, I'm the last person that wants to kink shame. If you saw my browsing history, you would likely have to google what half of those things were. And then possibly get memory wipes to forget what half those things were.**

_Personally, I have far more vanilla tastes. I also happen to...spice things up a lot of the time. If you're a citizen of the internet, you probably wouldn't have to look for anything other than a dramatic barf bag. I guess my vanilla tastes mean that my unusual fantasies are just more absurd than most people. ~f_

**Aside from your fetishes of seeing girls get twisted into cursive.**

_That's not a fetish, that was mild dyslexia combined with an overactive imagination. It definitely didn't turn me on, it just_ really  _confused me. ~f_

**Sure... But moving on, your fetishes** _(and my overactive imagination)_ **aren't really the issue. Hell, some of them overlap with mine, so I almost appreciate the mental images. And I know the prevalence of Rule 34 on the internet, so I can't really blame you. But I do have to ask you to at least not do it to my face.**

_You do realize that's like asking a five year old not to shove beans up their nose, right? ~f_

**Well, yes. But I can at least ask. I'm not writing porn, or planning to. Honestly, I don't really have an issue with you internally fetishizing my work. Or externally for that matter. Hell, write your own story where that happens. Send me the link for all I care. Actually, what was my issue with this again?**

_The reviews, I think. Unless you're also fine with those, and just needed to fill some space at the bottom of the chapter. ~f_

**Wait, who actually reads the reviews of other people?**

_The Beta who you share the funny ones with? Also, people who want a third or fourth opinion on the quality of the story sometimes I guess. ~f_

**Do any of those people care about this?**

_Well, I don't know about that, but they should definitely know what they're getting into. And in the interest of not padding the chapter to double length with an author's note, I'll finish by saying that, thus far, it's not been enough of an issue to merit this much attention. It was a grand total of what, 3 reviews? Out of at least three hundred? ~f_

**Two. So yeah, we really don't care. Send more of them if you want to.**

_Yeah, send nudes! Wait... ~f_

**Or, don't. Just keep in mind that I won't actually expand on any of them in my own stories.**

**And I am aware of all the actually important individuals and strains I have yet to cover. If they have not yet been written about yet, that's because I'm saving them for specific chapters.**


	36. Placeholder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The description of trees as "evergreen" is technically inaccurate. While it is true that their leaves or needles never turn brown and fall off en masse, as with normal trees, individual needles still regularly die, turn brown, fall off, and form debris around the base of the tree. It also stops being green when you set it on fire. Which is very fun. And scientific. Unfortunately, Catalyst is only one of those things. By now, you should know which. Also, don't own it.
> 
> _I wonder whether he even knows what he's talking about anymore… ~f_
> 
> **(Smooth jazz, in some videos, is a transition from being fully clothed to less than fully clothed. It is also used to increase certain types of tension in preparation for this transition. At least, in it's more questionable uses.)**
> 
> _That's because he was still coming down from a high when he wrote this. Or so I suspect...I really never know with this guy. ~f_

Dumbledore sat across from Thenabar, both illuminated in the dim evening light. Dumbledore had taken to visiting the boy daily, something which was much easier as the summer lightened his workload. Unfortunately, Thenabar wasn't showing many signs of growing past Abathur's influence. He had become more and more withdrawn, barely acknowledging Dumbledore's presence. When he wasn't nose-deep in a runes textbook, he was staring out a window at the Forest. From what the house elves told him, Thenabar was barely touching his food. Even when Dumbledore entered the room, Thenabar barely gave him a glance before returning his stare to the window.

"Are you alright, Thenabar?" Dumbledore asked.

"Why wouldn't I be? I have access to adequate food and shelter. There are no immediate threats, aside from you. My stimulation is adequate. My mental state is..." Thenabar trailed off, before fixing his gaze even more pointedly on the trees.

"Your mental state is...?" Dumbledore prompted.

"None of your concern, is it?"

"I'd have to disagree. As the headmaster, I  _am_ responsible for the wellbeing of my students," Dumbledore said, smiling softly. "Even if they don't particularly want my help."

"Oh, yes, that was quite obvious. The dementors, deadly tournament, schoolwide death threats, deranged criminal, and deceased troll all just  _scream_ safety and wellbeing, don't they?" Thenabar shot back, finally turning himself to gaze at Dumbledore. "Your concern for them is  _extremely_  obvious. Hell, why do you even care that Aba-that  _we_ killed Snape?"

"Why wouldn't I care?"

Thenabar took a deep breath. "He was an incompetent teacher, his combat ability was obviously lacking, he wouldn't have known the difference between an element and a compound if you shoved both in his face, his behavior and physical traits would have degraded the human race were they perpetuated in any form, not to mention-"

"Did he have a family?" Dumbledore interjected.

"I...don't know," Thenabar said.

"What was his favorite color? How did he brew Veritaserum? What experiences did he have in school? What memories did he cherish?" Dumbledore asked.

Thenabars brow furrowed. "Why does any of that matter?"

"Ah, forgive my ramblings. I am merely trying to make the point that Severus, despite his faults, still had those things that made him unique, and that tied him into the world. When he died, those were all lost. Everyone has their hidden depths, and the loss of all of that can be considered nothing less than a tragedy, even more so when one is unaware of all they have lost."

Thenabar didn't respond. His gaze had returned to the Forest, and it looked like it would be staying there. But when Dumbledore looked closely, he could see a frown on the boys face. Perhaps he was getting through to Thenabar after all.

**(Transition)**

Abathur's first challenge was to make sense of the essence that had been collected from the summoner. Whatever process had dumped the essence into terran flesh had left it scrambled and all but incoherent, and the random chunks of human essence all over the sequence weren't helping matters. Abathur had to clone the sample thousands of times over before he had enough. From there, he proceeded to purify the essence, filtering out the human pollution bit by bit. After that, he was left with an unorganized mess of random fragments of zerg strains. Upon a cursory assessment, Abathur could see the strands of a dozen different species all clumped into one chaotic heap, possibly with more difficulty hidden beneath the mess.

The majority of the clump was made up of generic traits: genes that allowed Zerg to digest creep, proteins that created structures to grip creep and aid movement, various cellular structures that permitted burrowing, and other traits that were present in almost every strain. Abathur cloned individual copies of each traits and stored them separately from the rest. Most, he had reinvented on his own some time ago, but it couldn't hurt to study and reintegrate the originals.

The rest of the various traits were broken down into their base components, leaving only the species-specific genes. Those, Abathur could not easily distinguish. Each zerg strain had been made up of several other species. Hydralisks alone had 7 different source species, zerglings had dozens for each of their strains, and he didn't even know if he'd possessed all of their essence in the first place. Isolating one trait might be easy, but Abathur would never be able to combine it with the rest. For all he knew, the strain could be broken up so badly that recombination just wasn't feasible, or there might even be key pieces of the sequence missing. No, there were far too many things that could prevent that from working. There wasn't any way for him to create hydralisks or roaches, or anything complex from this mess. At least, not yet. He needed a simpler strain. Something with only one source, one base species, and Abathur knew exactly which one to chose.

He found it exceedingly easy to recognize the overlord essence. The subtle harmony of psionics, the essence free of any additions from other species, all made it easy to find, even scrambled as it was. Not to mention it was still the only genetic code Abathur had found that dealt with helium. Abathur managed to extract it with ease. A simpler version, granted, without the sacs for carrying zerg, or the enzymes that converted its organs into creep, but it would still be able to transmit his psionic power. And really, that was all he needed from it.

Abathur set about changing the ritholisks to work with the new essence. Until now, all they had really been doing was modifying the base acromantula strands, bit by bit. Changes in size were simple to induce. Even the splicer only required a bit of rearrangement. But now, they had to work with a completely alien essence. Modifying the overlord was out of the question. Even if it was possible, Abathur would rather rewrite the entirety of the ritholisk's essence than bend Swarm essence to grow in anything less than optimal conditions.

**(Transition)**

It took nearly two months before the first acromantula grown overlord rose into the sky. The instant its bulbous eyes began to gaze over the Forest, Abathur could feel his control expanding. With the release of years of frustration, he flexed his mind over the new network, filling it with his will and power. It was a glorious feeling, one he had been missing for far, far too-

"Why do we have a hot air balloon?"

Abathur whirled around. He hadn't noticed anyone approaching. That was disturbing. "Luna. Unaware of purpose?"

"Well, you've been holed up since June. I couldn't exactly ask you about it," Luna pointed out.

"...Logical. Organism, overlord. Crucial to Swarm. Multiple functions. Transmits psionics, works as relay. Powerful sensory organs. Can see long distances, peer through most cloaking." They used to be able to detect everything that was cloaked. Then the Terrans improved their tech, the Protoss followed suit, and drones started to die for no apparent reason. It was an absolute nightmare, at least until he made the overseer.

"Oooo! I wish Daddy and I had one of those when we went to Norway. Maybe we would have finally found a Snorkack! It was only a few weeks ago, I could have stopped by and gotten one."

Abathur stilled. "Have told you. Interactions with psionic humans, unnecessary risk. Keep to minimum."

"I have to go home, Abathur. Daddy would worry if I didn't, and he might ask Dumbledore where I was."

"Went on extended trip. Alone with psionic human. High risk of discovery. Unacceptable."

"He won't find out. I promise," Luna said.

"Hmm," Luna had a point. She had to interact with psionics at some point, and better one she was familiar with than hordes that she wasn't. But even when she was fully human, she had issues with standing out. It had been a boon when Abathur was recruiting her, but now it was a danger. This needed to be fixed, sooner rather than later. "Potential, still disturbing. Must be corrected. Increase interactions with non-psionics. Learn to blend in."

Luna's face twisted in distaste. "Why would I be with them at all? They already didn't like me when I was one of them." She reached down to pet a teraling that had scurried next to her. "Besides, why would I want to be with them, when I have you?"

"Necessary. Swarm must advance psionic knowledge. Hogwarts, useful tool. Only member of Swarm capable of attendance," Her reluctance was welcome, to some degree. Her unwillingness to leave the Swarm was invaluable. But she had to learn to serve.

"What about Thenabar?" Luna asked, looking for a way out.

"Position, uncertain. Advancing runic knowledge. Can utilize soon. Otherwise, inadequate. Other areas require expansion," Abathur explained.

"But.." Luna tried to protest, but couldn't come up with an argument. "Fine. For the Swarm. But I don't have to actually pretend to  _like_ them, right?"

"Minimal interaction, optimal," Abathur confirmed. Luna breathed a sigh of relief. "Before, prepare. Interact with non-psionics. Practice using overlords."

"Use them to what?"

"Communicate. Command. Extremely important. Your experience, necessary for next project," Abathur elaborated.

"Ooo! What are you making now?" Luna asked, all rebellion lost with the idea of new friends on the horizon. Abathur would have to make a note of that.

"Not creating strain." At least, no strain that required Luna's help. "Will become aware of purpose. Later."

"Why not now?" Luna pouted.

"Could slip to father. Have mind invaded. Unnecessary risk. Must be secret," Abathur said. He was too close this time. The overlords had been the final piece, and he was so, so close now. He couldn't let anything interfere with it, and if the humans found out, they would try to stop him. They would have no other choice. But he couldn't let them, not yet, not now, not this late. "Cannot be discovered. Too close. No risk. None."

"Alright..." Luna relented. "But it better be good!"

"Immensely so," Abathur promised.

**(Transition)**

**Psionics: The Swarm has a... mixed history with psionics. It is simultaneously their most common and their least utilized trait. Every member of the Swarm is psionic to some degree, as they must in order to form a hivemind. However, more advanced use of psionics, such as telekinesis, the formation of lightning, or the storage of immaterial minds, remain beyond the Swarm's grasp. While the Zerg are capable of assimilating species with existing psionic traits, such as overlords, the extreme rarity of psionic species means that the few the Zerg do encounter are not modified in any extreme way, so as not to possibly damage the fragile psionic systems. There are few notable psionic strains within the Swarm. One example is the aforementioned overlords and their mutation, overseers, both of which serve as psionic transmitters, increasing the range and power of the Zerg commanders control. Queens, Broodmothers, and Cerebrates also possess great psionic potential, but it is almost entirely used to communicate and control, as an enhancement of the already existing psionic potential within all zerg. Infestors are also considered psionic, although the exact nature of their psionic ability is almost completely unknown. Though some individuals within the Swarm have displayed greater powers, such as the Queen of Blades and the Evolution Master, the Swarm remains largely incapable of the feats that are commonplace to the Protoss. Still, what little psionic abilities they possess the Swarm uses to their fullest. After all, controlling massive broods or communicating across interstellar distances would be impossible without the humble Overlords, and their ability to act as relays.**


	37. Awaken, my child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Year 4 grew way out of control, to be completely honest. I did not expect to go on that long. To counter that, I'm going to try rushing through Year 5, which means it will only take 72 chapters to get through it. I hope. The science is still out on that, and this is already not a very scientific process (not to be confused with The Scientific Process). Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Transition joke. Yes, that's it.)**
> 
> _Funny comment about unoriginal jokes and lack of humor. ~f_

Luna felt odd returning to the Ravenclaw dormitory after everything that had happened. After all the changes she'd undergone and all the time spent with Abathur and the Swarm, she was right back here, back among the ignorant, xenophobic humans. She'd almost hoped she wouldn't have to come back here. It was a stupid hope, she knew that. Daddy would have made her, and Abathur wasn't going to let her explain the zerg to him. Abathur wanted her to learn more, so here she was.

As she entered the Ravenclaw dorm, she answered the door's riddle absentmindedly. The riddles it gave had been fascinating at first, but now they all felt drab and dull. Maybe she could give it some riddles from the Quibbler to spice things up.

Her passage through the common area was uneventful. The walls of books might have been appealing to Luna once upon a time, but not with the reading material Abathur gave her. When you could find millions of pages inside a single cell,  _"Something to Leaf Through: The Basics of Herbology"_ didn't really cut it. Why bother looking up how a plant grows, when you can just get the information straight from the source?

Her disillusionment continued into the actual dorm room. The room was dominated by a row of beds adorned with blue and bronze, and infested head to toe with wrackspurts and nargles. Luna leaned closer to inspect some of them. Close up, they looked so...pathetic. How were humans weak enough to be infected with these specks?

Eventually, Luna decided that enough was enough. She could marvel at the failures of humans for a long time, but she had appearances to walked towards the bed, and changed into her pajamas, before throwing herself down. She had a long night of pretending to sleep to get to.

" _ **Petrificus Totalus**_ _."_

The incantation came just as Luna had laid herself down. In an instant, her limbs locked together, and her entire body went numb. All she could do was look around in a panic, trying to figure out what was going on.

A small, dark figure slowly entered her vision and Luna realized what was happening. Priscilla Smitty had been the leader of the gang of Ravenclaw girls who bullied Luna for the whole time they'd been at Hogwarts. It seemed they had decided to get an early start on the torment this year. Priscilla moved closer, and seated herself on the side of Luna's bed.

"Hello Loony," she began mockingly. "Hope you don't mind if the naggles take a few of your things again." Luna could hear her trunk being opened, as well as the giggles of a few other girls and the rustling of clothing. "And if you do mind, I'm sure your snorecats will get them for you." The giggles in the background got louder, growing into full blown laughter. "It's not like anyone else will."

That snapped Luna out of her daze. Almost immediately, her confusion morphed to rage. Visions swam through her head, of breaking out of this spell, placing her hands on Priscillas neck, squeezing and squeezing until her heart stopped beating, then moving on to the next one, unleashing her  _other_ arms, and pushing the sharp ends through all of their chests at once, letting the blood spill out onto the floor. But she couldn't do any of that. Her body was still numb, still not responding to anything she wanted to do. Even when she tried to reach out with her psionics, the welcoming power refused to answer her call. All she could do while the humans continued to steal her things was lay there, glare, and hate.

" _You know, when the Evolution Master sent you in here, he expected a bit more time before you experienced any emotional anomalies,"_ the thoughts sprung into her head unbidden _Congratulations on your alacrity."_

" _Thenabar!"_ Luna projected.  _"I need your help! They cursed me, and I can't move!"_

" _Yes, I can see them. You would be surprised how shallow their emotions are. Well, maybe_ you  _wouldn't be, but others might."_

" _Come on, I need your help! Do you know how I can get out?"_

Thenabar was silent for a second. Luna could feel him probing across her body. That sounded dirty. No, she needed to focus, to get the humans and make them pay.

" _Ah, so that's how that works. Crude, but effective,"_ Thenabar eventually concluded. _"Shouldn't be difficult to overcome if you know how."_

" _Then how do I get out?"_

" _That depends largely on you. What are you planning on doing to the humans?"_ Thenabar asked, an accusatory tone carrying through the thought.

" _Killing them, of course!"_ Luna thought in surprise. Wasn't that the obvious choice?

" _Poor plan. That would bring far too much attention on you, and by extension, the Swarm. Completely unacceptable."_ Thenabar stated.  _"No, that's not an option."_

" _Then what am I supposed to do?"_ Luna demanded, continuing to struggle against the curse in vain.

" _You have a few options. First, do nothing, and just let this year be like the rest,"_ Thenabar must have been able to sense her disbelief. " _Right, didn't think so. Next, you could attempt to get the aid of a prefect or staff member, but the goal is to avoid attention. So that's less than viable. Talking with these humans is also unlikely to have any effect, from what I can see."_

" _Just tell me what would work already!"_ Luna could hardly take it, watching the humans walk around, handle her things, while she was helpless to do anything but watch. Every fiber was screaming at her to do something, and Thenabar still wasn't telling her how.

" _Of course, Luna. Tell me, has Abathur taught you how to heal yet?"_

" _I...what? Yes?"_

" _Good. In that case, just don't kill them,"_ Thenabar said _"Also, the spell is mostly just blocking a couple nerves along your spine. Run your... magic... along your vertebrae, and the effect will be eliminated."_ The second Luna tried that, feeling came back to her limbs, and with it, all the anger of years of torment. With an exaggerated stretch, she lifted herself off the bed and turned to face Priscilla and the rest.

"How did you do that?" Priscilla asked with a frown, before pointing her wand towards Luna. " _ **Petrificus Totalus.**_ _"_ This time, Luna broke free of the curse within a second. Luna's wand shot into her hand, and before Priscilla could attempt to cast the Full Body-Bind curse again, Luna launched her own spell.

" _ **Silencio**_ ," Priscilla went totally silent, her mouth moving and gaping like a fish out of water. Luna found the metaphor especially appropriate considering just how far the little human was out of her depth.

" _You should silence the rest too."_

" _Thanks, Thenabar,"_ She cast the silencing spell five more times before the rest could react, silencing the other humans just as efficiently, rendering them all but without magic. Luna savored the moment, reveling in the helplessness of the little bullies as they waved their sticks in a desperate attempt to call their magic. No cries of help would ever make it out, no one would hear their pain, and no one would come to help them. Perfect. She would start with Priscilla, then.

There was something disappointing about breaking a bone without hearing the visceral snap. Luna supposed that watching Priscilla's face contort with a silent scream was almost as good, but it still didn't feel quite as satisfying. Perhaps if she broke the other arm? Ah, that was better. It helped to watch the fearful faces of the other girls in the background, pinned against the wall with her telekinesis. She would get to each of them, sooner or later.

Priscilla seemed to be calming down, her screams subsiding into inaudible sobs. That wouldn't do. Luna wanted her to scream, to feel the pain fresh and new. She forced her magic into Priscilla, had it seep into her cells, and force them to heal over her wound. Mending, Abathur had called it. Priscilla's arm snapped back into place, right in time for Luna to break it all over again. And again, and again, for however many times she wanted to, for whatever part she wanted to shatter. Let the human reap what she sowed.

When morning came, none of her roommates would have anything physically wrong with them. Even if they told someone, no one would believe them, and she would impress just how much of a bad idea it was to tell. The Swarm would be safe, the humans would be terrified, and Luna could finally have a year without someone stealing her things.

**(Transition)**

"If they killed your friends, how would you ever forgive them?" Thenabar asked. " _Why_  would you ever forgive them?" It was a stupid question. Thenabar could barely work the idiotic words out of his mouth. The answer, of course, was that you didn't. They had shown themselves to be a threat, so they would be eliminated. Anything else was sheer stupidity.

"You may choose to believe me or not, but people can change, Thenabar. Even if one did...betray your confidence like that, there is always the chance for them to regret, to redeem themselves. Everyone deserves a second chance, and they almost always prove themselves worthy of it," said Dumbledore. It was more or less the exact kind of answer Thenabar had come to expect from the old man. Flowery, sentimental, and full of so many uninformed opinions that Thenabar had to pretend to accept at face value. It would be so, so easy to pick his answer apart, tell him about the weaknesses of the human brain. But no. The Evolution Master had a part for him to play. The sheltered boy, the misled child. And Thenabar would play that part, regardless of his distaste for it. So instead of responding as he wished, Thenebar pretended to be curious.

"How can you be sure that they're worthy of forgiveness?"

For a moment, the elder human hesitated. A flash of blonde hair, blue eyes, and naked flesh flashed into the headmasters mind, before vanishing behind his shields. Another moment passed, before he began to speak. "In this, you will simply have to trust me. It is a thing that can only be experienced, even secondhand, if one must."

"Do  _you_ know anyone like that?" Another flash, this time of a young girl with long straight hair. Guilt, regret, love, quite the interesting mix of emotions. Just what was Dumbledore burying under those shields? Well, didn't matter too much. Thenabar already had her image along with what went with them. It was enough to use, if he had to.

"Nobody that you would know, unfortunately. But, by the time, you reach my age, you will almost certainly meet some for yourself."

"Assuming I get that old," Thenabar injected a bit of melancholy into his words, mixed with the slightest bit of fear. The primal emotions were always a potent cocktail of manipulation. Boggarts had learned that lesson a long time ago.

"I'm quite sure you will," Dumbledore said.

"You don't know that," This, Thenabar knew, had to be carefully timed. A little panic at the beginning, "I could get killed by another troll." A slight build up afterwards, not quite hysteria, but borderline. "Or another wizard could find me and try to get Abathur," and now the climax, the final, the part that would pull it all together. Thenabar changed his voice to a higher pitch "Or Abathur could just decide to-," Thenabar slammed his mouth shut, and made his eyes panicked.

"Do what, Thenabar?"

Thenabar ignored him, and continued in a quavering tone. "He...he wouldn't, right? He wouldn't do that to me. I'm not getting in his way. Abathur wouldn't kill me. He wouldn't." Thenabar kept his breaths shallow and rapid. He pushed beads of moisture to his skin, mimicking sweat. He tensed his limbs and fixed his posture into a rigid position, adding a slight wobble to make it appear as if he was struggling to stay upright. To an observer, Thenabar looked just as if he was having a panic attack.

Dumbledore took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. He approached Thenabar and kneeled down, putting his arm around the zerg's body. He waited patiently for Thenabar to cease his charade. The spy kept the act going for a few more minutes before calming down, letting Dumbledore get his attention. He looked at the headmaster with an expression of surprise.

"Rest assured, Thenabar. For as long as you remain within the halls of Hogwarts, I will do my best to protect you from Abathur, or whatever else may threaten you. You have my word."

"Re-really?" Dumbledore nodded in return. Stuttering was really absurdly effective at faking emotional fragility. But Thenabar wanted to show more than instability. What exactly did he want Dumbledore to see here? Doubt, certainly. But the old man also needed to see hope in the promise of safety, something that Dumbledore would no doubt use to further increase Thenebar's "growth." So Thenebar allowed doubt to cross his face, with a teasing undercurrent of hope running beneath. From the feeling of gratification emanating off the terran, the charade worked quite well.

Thenabar stayed in Dumbledore's grasp for a few more minutes, before pulling himself out from under it, and returning his attention to one of his textbooks. The headmaster took that as his signal to leave. Before he could make his way out of the room, Thenabar spoke up once more.

"I'm sorry about Professor Snape," Thenabar said.

Dumbledore turned around, his mind radiating pleased surprise. "Thank you, Thenabar. That means more than you know." With that, he took his final steps out of Thenabar's cell, leaving him alone to his thoughts and his books. Really, it was almost too easy sometimes. If his boggart relatives had any real intelligence, they would have come to dominate this planet centuries ago.

**(Transition)**

Abathur hadn't worked with runes quite as much as he had wished to. When he had first learned of them, he had been ecstatic. It was the method, at last to cracking the mysteries of psionics wide open!

Excitement had quickly turned to frustration as the limitations of the art made themselves known in the most obnoxious ways possible. Putting two runes together was just as likely to cause them to explode as it was to perform any useful function. It was unintuitive at every point, oftentimes to the point of absurdity. Abathur had once blown his arm off dozens of times in a row trying to create just one rune sequence. What use he had gotten out of runes had almost exclusively been in a support role, utilized pre-made sequences with minor modifications. The second he had the opportunity to work with true essence once more, he had all but abandoned runes.

That was no longer an option.

Abathur's brood couldn't grow enough overlords, not with the biomass they had. Even with his dragons and acromantula hunting as much as they could, they couldn't bring in enough, not without attracting much more attention than he was comfortable with. So, what few overlords they could create had to be enhanced, focused, their psionic signal concentrated and amplified. That meant using runes. The evolution master already knew he didn't have the skills to make a sequence like that, and trial and error was just as likely to cost him all his overlords as it was to actually work. So, he needed something else to do it for him.

Abathur had the experiment study as much of runes as he possibly could within the confines of its cell. The rules, the theory, the symbols; every last scrap of knowledge he could get his hands on. The most fundamental rules of runes became known to the Swarm. Abathur could not work with those rules. They were too foreign, too alien. But it would be child's play to make something that could.

Physically, the weavers almost identical to acromantulas. They possessed the same massive suspended body, the same eight hairy legs, the same flexible mandibles. The difference was in their mind. The rules of runes had been embedded within their psyche, their neurons wired until they thought of, in, and with runes. The mystic symbols came as instinctually to them as breathing. Their abdomens swelled with the Hive, thousands of smaller beings scurrying to move the tiny strands exactly where their host desired. Their fangs were covered with the webbing used to form their schemes. All across the clearing, they wove their web, shaping it with dozens of mandibles. Where the webbing touched the creep, the creep grew over it, feeding the runes with raw power. Abathur had hoped he could get the creep itself to hold the runes, but, unfortunately, the weavers themselves took priority.

Still, Abathur's investment was quickly starting to pay off. Already a faint nimbus of power grew from the weavers' webs, narrowing as it drew higher. Abathur pressed against the wards with his own power. He was pleased to see the ward absorb his probe, before funneling the power towards the center, ready to release it at his command. Abathur left it. On its own, that little smidgen of power would accomplish nothing. His own failed attempts had already shown that. But with Luna's power added to his own, and the Overlords to carry it further, Abathur may once again be able to reach the full Swarm.

**(Transition)**

_Creep tumor: Imagine a tumor, but more creepy. Also, it literally creeps around your body, spreading cancer around like the metastasizing little bitch that it is. They're not pleasant, but fortunately I also just made them up. Sort of..._

**Creep Tumor: Creep is essential to the Swarm. It provides nutrition for their structures and creatures. It grants them a massive movement advantage in their own territory. It allows the Swarm absolute perception of all that is within their reach. As such, it should come as no surprise that the Swarm has become increasingly adept at spreading it as far and as wide as possible. Their preferred methods for this are hatcheries and creep tumors, but creep tumors far more common. Laid by queens, creep tumors implant themselves into already laid creep, germinating for a moment, before disappearing beneath the purple carpet. From there, they extend the creep and monitor the area around them carefully, increasing the Swarm's awareness of their surroundings. Each creep tumor possesses the ability to reproduce exactly once, sending a tendril out to birth a new tumor, which in turn can birth another. Given time, its possible for a single creep tumor to cover an entire planet, although given the ease with which queens can lay new ones, this is rarely, if ever, necessary. Tumors, much like their namesake, spread virulently across planetary bodies, quickly becoming nearly impossible to stop. For every creep tumor destroyed, a dozen more are have already been spread, making stopping their spread completely a pipe dream. And to make matters worse, the tumors themselves are nearly impossible to detect, making their progress that much more difficult to curtail. And once the creep has spread, the Swarm is soon to follow.**


	38. Embrace the Glory of your Birthright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Throughout this fic, I've channeled Abathur, pulled his thoughts into my own head, and unleashed them into the world. That's not enough. I seek to become Abathur, to grow his skin over my own. I will turn flesh into clay and shape it to my will. I will remake the world with cells and symbiotes, turn forests into factories, and grow cities from seeds. And the best part, the absolute crown jewel in this vision, is that it is finally science fact, rather than science fiction. All the pieces are in place. We can sequence every letter and now, with CRISPR, change them just as easily. The only thing we need now is time. Still don't own Abathur, though. At least, not yet.
> 
> **(When you reach an end, break past the chain. When a path is blocked, get on a train. When jokes run out, endure the pain. When humor lives, a transitions gained. A new era of transition jokes begins now. Mediocrity will be slain. All hail the transition!)**
> 
> _All aboard the pain train! ~f_

The glow of the wards was palpable now, a harsh illumination that cast the surrounding shadows into harsh relief. Abathur could only stare in elation as the energy pooled exactly as it was supposed to, congealing in a rough sphere fair above the ground, while his small fleet of overlords converged above it. All the pieces were in place, the weavers were on standby to correct any problems, and finally,  _finally,_ everything was coming together. The only thing left was the raw power, and he could gather that.

 _"Luna. Require presence."_ The summons was brief, her arrival would be briefer. He had spent years, well over a decade, apart from the Swarm. Countless days that he could have spent improving and honing them, moving them towards perfection, all lost. But he had learned, he had taken what little essence this world had to offer, absorbed the knowledge of its psionics.

He could already picture it now, the weavers draping their patterns across creep, adding the intricate runes to hatchery walls. The psionic light of wards washing across Char, Kaldir, and so many more. How would the psionics' runes fit inside the depths of the Swarm's own essence? Abathur took a moment to indulge in his fantasies. They would be reality soon enough, after all.

**(Transition)**

One of the unexpected downsides to being zerg was the perfect memory. Certainly, it helped Luna in tests and essays, but, on the other hand, she could perfectly picture every single second of Umbridge's ugly human face sneering at a classroom of open textbooks. She could remember every word within the silly little book, and yet she had already been forced to read and reread it a dozen times over. Oh, how far the Rotfang conspiracy had spread. Abathur had repeatedly reassured her that her teeth could grow back now, but the ministry was still trying to rot hers away. She had to admire their persistence, at least. It's not like there was anything else of worth in them. Luna had stopped even bothering to pretend to read at this point, preferring to watch the wrackspurts dancing around her...teacher? Was that the right word? Probably not, but Luna enjoyed watching her wrackspurts even in spite of the horrid pink background.

"Is there something interesting around my head, Ms. Lovegood?" The pink pest asked.

"No, there's absolutely nothing there," Luna reassured her. Snickers broke out around the classroom. Luna wasn't quite sure why. From the look of things, neither was Umbridge. She stared at Luna in confusion for a few seconds, before returning her attention to the book on her desk, leaving Luna to wallow in the atmosphere of stupidity that humans seemed so good at creating. Were they actively trying to sabotage their own young? At this point, she would take any excuse to get out of here.

_"Luna. Require presence."_

That worked. Luna stopped pretending to read and abruptly began to pack her things, to the stares of her classmates and the Rotfang perpetuator. It took them a full twenty seconds before anyone began to react.

"Ms. Lovegood, I have not dismissed you," Umbridge spoke up.

"Don't care. I've got better things to do," Luna said, idly wondering if it was worth saving her place. Probably not.

"Regardless of what you  _think,_ this class is required by the Ministry, and you will sit down."

"This was a class?" Luna asked, faking a shocked tone. "I thought that required, you know, teaching. When were you planning on doing that?" She was nearly done packing at this point. Just her quill left.

"Detention, Ms. Lovegood."

"I'll pass," Luna said. Before Umbridge could respond, she was out of the door and on her way to Abathur. Used as she was to ignoring the other students, she didn't notice the speculative glances she received as she walked out the door.

**(Transition)**

Luna's arrival was uneventful. After a brief explanation of their goal she was more than willing to begin. Her devotion to the Swarm reminded Abathur of the Swarmborn broodmothers. A fortunately apt comparison, considering he wouldn't necessarily have the power to control her otherwise. Regardless, she was ready and sitting in the center of the weavers creation. Abathur activated it.

Immediately, massive threads of energy thrust outwards from Luna, feeding into the cone surrounding her. The wards concentrated Luna's power, drawing it together into a giant sphere. The pulsing mass expanded, starting from the paltry ball sized orb Abathur and his brood had gathered, to a massive orb, several meters in diameter. Abathur's overlords gathered above and around it, orbiting the sphere, waiting until it reached critical mass. Abathur monitored the process carefully. If the ward destabilized at this point, the explosion would likely be quite visible, which was an inconvenience Abathur would prefer to avoid, especially since the overlords and Luna would likely be caught in it.

The weavers' design proved effective. In bare minutes, Luna was drained dry and her power was suspended in midair. Unbidden, a pleased hiss emerged from Abathur's throat. He was minutes, maybe seconds away from reunification. As the overlords flew into a column above the barely contained sphere, a manic grin emerged from the few vestiges of humanity he had yet to purge.

The ward released its grasp on Luna's power, directing it straight upwards into the column of overlords. The first overlord was struck directly by the psionic energy, absorbed it, focused it, and then sent it upwards to the next overlord. Link by link, the signal ascended the chain of overlords, the organic transmitters refining and perpetuating the beacon. In a matter of minutes, the ascension was complete. The final overlord gathered its newly received power and fired the narrow purple beam into the blue abyss. Then, nothing. Abathur narrowed his eyes. His scythe like limbs began to twitch.

"Abathur? Did it work?" Luna asked from behind him.

"Unacceptable," Abathur turned towards his weavers, signalling them to go over the wards. They swarmed over the creep, inspecting the runes laid on the ground, searching for any fault. Abathur called down his overlords as well, forcefully wrenching a hunk of flesh from one and eating it, examining the sequences. Finding it free of flaws, he sent it back up. The weavers had finished their survey as well, also finding nothing. Finally, he turned towards Luna. "Attempt again."

"I'm not sure I can do that. That took a lot out of me."

"Irrelevant. Attempt agai-" A presence slammed into Abathur's brood with visceral force. The air felt thick, and the hum of billions filled Abathur's head. Images flashed past his eyes, of creep covered worlds, of swarms of zerglings running in pursuit of their prey, of a thousand mutalisks descending on a new world, escorting...guardians? Odd, he had removed that strain from most hive clusters half a decade ago. It didn't matter. He was back with the Swarm, and he reveled in its enormity.

 _"Abathur, the most productive of my children,"_ a voice began, deep and resonant, as if forced through thick liquid.  _"You have found yourself most estranged from your home. I suspect you have a great deal to inform me of. You, and our newly found family."_ The entity, to which Abathur hesitated to assign a name, focused itself on Luna, dispelling the excess information that had driven her to the ground. Abathur hadn't noticed that. That required correction.

" _I must admit to a great deal of curiosity for how there came to be two of you, Evolution Master,"_ The impossibility continued.  _"After all, I can only recall forming you a singular time."_ Another one of him? What? How? Abathur was one of a kind, unique. The only way there could be two of him was...no. On the one hand, it explained so much. The terrans lack of technological development, their ignorance of the Swarm, the protoss, and everything else outside their atmosphere. As far as he knew, it wasn't possible, but then again, neither was turning a small rodent into a hollow ceramic structure.

"Unsure," he began. "Temporal displacement, most likely explanation. Unknown transportation medium. Many variables."

" _An intriguing situation,"_ said the Overmind, the eternal will of the Swarm.  _"Just what has happened to you, my child?."_

**(Transition)**

_The Overmind: It's actually just like your mind. I mean, isn't your mind, by default,_ _over_ _your body? ~f_

**The Overmind: If the Swarm ever had a god, it was the Overmind. Created by Amon for the purpose of accelerating the zerg's evolution, the Overmind was a near omniscient being in total command of the entire Swarm. Its intelligence was incalculably vast, capable of predicting the exact outcome of a hypothetical battle, down to the actions of every unit. Its plans could stretch across decades. The Overmind lived, in its own words, for "countless millennia", and through its influence the Swarm became formidable weapon, capable of swallowing worlds en masse. The Overmind in its physical form resembles a titanic eye, bordered by massive curving tentacles which are ridged with spikes. Even after death, the Overmind's body was so vast that brain activity continued for nearly a decade. The Overmind exercised its will through cerebrates, sentient beings entrusted with broods of their own. Each cerebrate was made personally by the Overmind, and protects its children. If a cerebrate is slain, the Overmind can return it to life almost immediately. There are very few things in the universe capable of preventing this process. The Overmind values the survival of its children above all else, and will take any measures necessary to protect them. It is a deadly intelligence with the patience and ruthlessness to push its plans forward regardless of the cost. Every morning when you open your eyes, give thanks to the Overmind. It has decided you're not worth ending.**


	39. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Look, I don't know why you keep reading this. Most of the time, I just go on an irrelevant tangent on something loosely related to either relatively recent scientific developments or whatever random shit feauxen and I were talking about before I started writing this, before turning it straight into a flat statement that everything I wrote about up until that point is entirely unrelated to the actual story. Then I type the exact same four word statement about my lack of ownership. I mean, seriously, I should probably start copying and pasting at this point. That is all these disclaimers have ever been, and for the duration of this story, ever will be. For those who just started reading this, congratulations, I just saved you the annoyance of reading through 38+ other disclaimers. For the regular readers of this, I would recommend seeking psychiatric help. Doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result is the literal definition of insanity. Then again, that's just my opinion. My very unscientific opinion. Also, don't own it.
> 
>  
> 
> **(Have you ever noticed that the spaces between all these scenes are a tad shifty? I mean, one second, the characters are doing this one thing, the next they shift to something else. There's just a random shift between absolutely everything. It you're wondering where I'm going with this, that's a good question. I have no idea. Anyway, time for a transition to the story.**
> 
>  
> 
> **What the fuck am I doing)**
> 
>  
> 
> _Shit, he's starting to catch on to my game. Now he's pre-empting me and making fun of himself in a self-conscious fashion that actually makes some twisted kind of sense. Fuck. (Time to plan the next level of the game. Muhahahahaha!)~f_

Zerus was a harsh world, capable of killing most life forms that were unfortunate enough to walk its surface. Heavy volcanic activity kept the planet hot, causing massive storms that covered as much as half of the planet at once. Lava flows ran rampant across the terrain, filling the atmosphere with toxic fumes and boiling what little ocean there might have been. Despite all of this, the surface of Zerus swarmed with life. The parts of the planet’s surface that weren’t covered with streams of lava were covered in nearly omnipresent flora, creating a mostly green surface, a surface which was only broken by the many small lava flows. Most organisms would die on this planet. But the native Zerg were definitely not ‘most organisms.’

Throughout the jungles and wastelands of Zerus the primal zerg hunted each other, hoping to devour one another and use their prey’s essence to perfect their own. Every individual was different, making use of its own unique weapons, defenses, and hunting methods. A casual observer could easily mistake each primal zerg as a separate species, varied as they are. In this respect, the harsh and varied environment was perfectly suited for them. Each adaptation leads to another weapon, another defense, another way to gather essence and evolve. There were zerg that spew a fire-like acid, zerg that burrow under the ground to strike unsuspecting targets, zerg that fire bullet-like spines, and many, many more. 

Even with all these different mutations, flying zerg were rare. The winds on Zerus were powerful enough to rip the wings off of most flying species, and the open air left nowhere to hide from any predators on the ground looking to the air for a tasty snack. The few that manage to survive were highly specialized, having survived only by being too difficult to kill. 

One such zerg had more than most. It possessed a slender body with four short wings that beat rapidly to provide lift. It also had an extremely long digestive system which it could use as a sort of harpoon to grab and envelop smaller prey from the ground. It could launch a pod that exploded into a large gas cloud around would-be predators, blinding anything unfortunate enough to get caught within. It was not intelligent enough to have a name for itself, but the terrans would eventually come to call it a Viper. It was usually alone in the sky, capable of capturing unsuspecting prey at its own discretion. As such it was off guard, unaware of the looming threat approaching from above.

It didn't even see the leviathan before it swallowed the viper whole.

The leviathan descended through the atmosphere, easily weathering the winds that had grounded the primals. Its massive oval body bore numerous worm-like tentacles, some ready to impale anything that came too close, others ready to open their mouths and spew out the tens of thousands of zerg forces residing within or swallow anything on the surface below. From its sides poured countless newborn corruptors, spreading out in massive swarms that searched for more vipers to kill and consume. On massive, gravity-manipulating tentacles they flew, spewing ink and death before them. In a few minutes, the corruptors had eliminated most everything near the leviathan, and they flew back with the spoils of their conquest.

The other primal zerg had not been passive. Masses of them were already converging on the leviathan, scrambling over each other in a massive pile, clawing desperately. The Swarm did not care. Rather than risk letting any primals reach it, the leviathan opened its vast maw and fired its explosive bio-plasmid payload, impacting the mass below with a powerful discharge. Many primals escaped the blast, and they were all more than ready to attack. The leviathan turned to face them, its massive bulk whipping the air around it into a frenzy. Its tentacles lashed out at the ground below, carving scores in the dirt and killing the slower predators. Clusters of bile swarms flew with pinpoint accuracy to strike down the few that escaped.

At this point, even the least intelligent of the primal zerg had realized they couldn't fight this behemoth head on. Some of the primals burrowed into the ground and detached the specialized eggs they carried on their backs. Within seconds, the eggs hatched, releasing small flying locusts that flew up at the leviathan in a thick cloud.

The corruptor fleet had by now returned to the leviathan, swollen with essence. Upon seeing the locust swarm, they fired indiscriminately, tearing through as many as they could. A few locusts still managed to spit their acid on the leviathan before they were obliterated, but the leviathan's thick skin weathered the attack with little damage. Frustrated, the creatures below released a second wave of locusts.

The Swarm changed tactics immediately. A third of the corruptors folded in on themselves, converting into cocoons. The leviathan rained down drop pods, deploying its ground forces in order to stay the endless tide of primals and buy time for the corruptors to complete their transformation. Within minutes, the cocoons burst open to reveal brood lords, which immediately began to rain broodlings onto the surface of Zerus. The brood lords aimed their living ammunition deliberately, sending them straight through the locusts on their way down. When the broodlings reached the ground, they surrounded the locust bearers, isolating them from the rest of the pack. Six of the leviathan's larger mouthed tentacles slammed themselves into the ground. When they lifted, the swarm hosts were gone. The leviathan pulled up its forces and flew out of the atmosphere, with the corruptor fleet following close behind. They had gotten what they needed. Deep within the bowels of the leviathan, the first swarm hosts and vipers were already being born.

They weren't the only ones. Deep within the forests of an alien world, little acidic slugs were given armor and limbs, repurposed into the Swarm's frontline. Within days, roaches were ready for deployment. On another planet, zerglings tore down moss from the canyon walls, growing little pockets of acid across their body. Eventually, these pockets consumed almost the entirety of the zerglings, once more giving rise to the explosive baneling.

In an evolution pit, Abathur observed his most recent projects. The queen had already lost its ability to fly, but its legs were developing rapidly. The spore colony, now capable of crawling, had just managed to support its own weight for the first time. An ultralisk had just successfully grown its second pair of kaiser blades. The roaches had just arrived, but already some were showing the telltale traits that would eventually form the ravager. Still, there was so much to do for all of his projects. Abathur wondered just how much time it had taken his future self to accomplish all of this. He was already having difficulty coming up with ways to accomplish the tasks his future self had apparently completed.

Of course, part of that might have been the  _special_ projects. Cloning essence without access to the original sequences was always difficult, but even accounting for that there were aspects of the weavers and boggart modified changelings that eluded his grasp. Still, he would evolve and grow in skill like he had for his entire existence. Knowing the end product he strove for would only make it easier, faster. In the meantime, Fenris's brood had just returned from Zerus, carrying the swarm host and viper strains. What would he need to collect next? The borbu matriarch, most likely. His counterpart's memory was littered with memories of just how useful the infestors he would make from the matriarch's essence would be. Then he would move on to scantipedes, ash worms, mitoscarabs, karaks, carrion wasps...

**(Transition)**

" _And these...Broodmothers,"_ the Overmind mulled over the word, stretching it out, tasting it. _"What was their purpose?"_

"Command of broods. Replacement for cerebrates," Abathur responded verbally, though the Overmind heard it just as easily as if it was thought. Within the glorious frenzy of the hivemind, there was essentially no difference.

" _It must be assumed that they were created after my demise, and long before this...terran ritual brought you to the past."_

"Yes. Cerebrates, incapable of independent life. Eventual extinction. Broodmothers, necessary. Valuable use of Queen of Blades' essence."

" _So she guided her own children, just as I have mine. What were these broodmothers? How did they serve her?"_

"Managed broods, engaged in combat. Some differences from cerebrate. Greater independence and combat ability. Necessary without resurrection," Abathur paused. "Recommend recreation and integration into Swarm. Greater battlefield capabilities, improved battle tactics. Subordinate to cerebrates."

" _They would serve under my children, as they serve me..,"_ the Overmind considered.  _"Your proposal is not without merit, Evolution Master. Your counterpart will begin work on this."_

Abathur's hands twisted together in discomfort and a low growl escaped his throat. The existence of his younger self was still deeply uncomfortable. He had been unique among the Swarm for the entirety of his life. To have another like him was...disconcerting.

 _"Calm yourself, my child. You remain unique among us, and your position remains unchanged. As of now, you are merely a more capable multitasker."_ Abathur remained unconvinced.

_"A different topic then. Your interference in your past has changed your future dramatically. Our conflict with these terrans may never occur, and the Queen of Blades may never be born. The loss of my daughter never born will be a heavy one to bear."_

"Was greatest leader," Abathur agreed.

 _"If she truly was, that makes her absence all the greater. And yet, you seem to have procured a replacement,"_ the Overmind mused.

"Luna." It wasn't a question.

 _"Indeed. She has the potential to fulfill the Queen of Blades' formal role, however far in the future that may be,"_ suggested the Overmind.

"Unrecommended. Luna, still immature. Incapable of greater strategic thought. Potential not yet developed," Abathur interjected. "Interrupted infestation process. Remaining flaws in hivemind connection. Could lead to stability issues. More important factor. Swarm must pose no threat to Swarm leader. Breeding replacement may result in insurrection. Unacceptable."

_"And yet, without a replacement, my death would result in chaos, a fractured Swarm, my children turned against each other in a petty conflict. A 'Brood War', was the name used. Is this not equally unacceptable?"_

"...Organism Abathur will serve Swarm."

" _As you always have, Evolution Master,"_ the Overmind said emphatically.  _"The only thing that remains is your retrieval. Daggoth is leading Tiamat brood to your planet. Should you be able to produce your own leviathan, the journey would take significantly less time."_

"Difficult. Cannot collect necessary resources. Humans possess nuclear weapons. If aware, would eradicate. Simple hive cluster, optimal outcome." That was odd. When had he started to refer to them as humans? That was irritating. If there was one behavioral change, there could be others.

" _Those are unfortunate circumstances. Daggoth will take some time to reach you, years perhaps."_

"Survived 15 years. Can wait."

" _I am pleased to hear that. The Swarm greatly anticipates your return."_

**(Transition)**

Abathur had told Luna about the Swarm. He had told her of the planets they colonized and grew on. He had told her of the enormous vessels, the living creatures that moved from system to system. She had listened to these stories in glee, imagining traveling in them herself. But she had always pictured something similar to what they had on Earth; a tiny enclave on each world that kept to itself as much as possible, only striking when they needed to. A small society where everyone fit in.

Luna hadn't been prepared for the sheer scale of the Swarm.

They covered worlds in creep, they spread like wildfire across systems. When they arrived on a planet, they didn't hide, they dominated. The size of the Swarm had overwhelmed her, tossed her mind around like a hurricane. She didn't know how long she would have lasted without the intervention of the Overmind, and that was only because it was in and of itself vast enough to drown out the rest. Even now, she could feel it talking with Abathur, like a dark spire of thought descending from the sky. She wasn't even paying attention to it, just walking through Hogwarts' halls, but the Overmind still dominated her mind. She didn't even notice the human until he put his hand on her shoulder.

Luna immediately whipped around, grabbing the offending limb and twisting it away. She looked up into the startled face of a ravenclaw student. Older than her, likely, not that it mattered. He didn't appear particularly threatening, but Luna herself was proof that that meant nothing. He wasn't making any more moves just yet, so Luna decided to let him speak.

"Merlin's sake, Lovegood," said the human. The name Anthony Goldstein popped up from Luna's memory. "The hell was that for?"

"You startled me," Luna replied in a cautious tone.

"Well, that's on you. I was yelling your name for 5 minutes, and you didn't so much as glance at me," Goldstein retorted. It was at this moment that Luna learned she could still blush in human form.

"I was thinking about other things," Luna said defensively.

"Whatever. Look, Lovegood, I hear you hate about Umbridge just as much as the rest of us. Potter and his buddies are organizing a group to get around her crap. If you want in, we're meeting on Hogsmeade weekend in the Hog's Head," Goldstein said.

"And you're inviting me?" Luna asked incredulously.

"If you walked out of her class, you're not going to snitch. And if you don't join, well," Goldstein shrugged. "Doesn't cost me anything."

This was bizarre. A human was inviting  _her_ to their meeting. Luna couldn't remember the last time a human had wanted her for...anything. Her eyes narrowed. "And what do you get out of it?"

"Nothing. Look, Lovegood, you can join it or not, I don't care. Just thought you might want to know, ok?" Goldstein replied dismissively.

"I...I'll consider it," Luna replied hesitantly. It might be worth checking out. After all, her mission was to learn more of the human's secrets, and it wasn't like Umbridge was going to teach anything. She could take a look. If it turned the way the rest of the 'events' the humans had invited her to, then she now had means to deal with it. It would just be another reason to thank Abathur for his modifications.

**(Transition)**

"You've made a great deal of progress, Thenabar. Far more than I could have reasonably expected."

Thenabar paused in his reading, looking up towards Dumbledore. "Thank you?" It was an odd compliment, but thanks were almost always the appropriate response to compliments.

"You're quite welcome," The human replied, obviously amused at Thenabar's confusion. Well that was fine, Thenabar was amused at the human's utterly irredeemable, nonstop, illogical,  _entirely preventable_   _stupidity_. "Are you content here, Mr. Jaren?"

"I'm not  _miserable_ ," Thenabar lied.

"But wouldn't you prefer to be out there, among your peers?" Dumbledore continued.

"Possibly," Thenabar replied. "I haven't exactly had the opportunity to find out for myself what they're like." For some reason, statements like that always had the greatest effect on Dumbledore, invoking a feeling of wistfulness and regret. Thenabar used them as much as possible.

"Would you like to?"

It was moments like this that Thenabar wanted to laugh. Perhaps he had been around this particular human too long. Perhaps he had been around  _humans_ too long. Whatever the case, he was picking up their sense of humor, and the sheer lack of knowledge they displayed about what went on under their own noses made him burst into laughter every time there were no prying eyes on him. He had unfortunately few of those moments, with the little house elves spying on him, but that just made each moment more precious. Thenabar dearly wished he had that privacy now. He was just so  _stupid._

"I wouldn't mind giving it a try," Thenabar said, grinning.

**(Transition)**

_Purity of Essence: It's like Nazis, but they're in space. And also insects. And they can change their DNA at will, which adds a whole new dimension to the whole 'racial purity' doctrine. ~f_

**Purity of Essence: The xel'naga have an extremely unique method of reproduction. In each universe they shepherd, two races always emerge, one with purity of form, one with purity of essence. These two races travel to Ulnar, where the eldest xel'naga give their life to ascend the races into new xel'naga. But even before their ascension, these races gain special benefits from their purity. The zerg, possessing purity of essence, ironically have the ability to get rid of that purity and consume other essences to change their form. While the zerg can do this instinctually, it is possible to engineer this process if an intelligent being oversees the process. Essence can either be used as a general catalyst for evolution, or specific traits can be extracted from said essence and assimilated into whatever consumes it, sometimes heavily modified to suit the receiving creature. Those with purity of essence have an instinctive sense of the quantity and quality of essence in a given area or being. They also possess an extremely high rate of mutation, and are able to adapt to any scenario within a few generations. The zerg have even been known to intentionally expose themselves to such hazardous environments in the hope of evolving to a stronger form. Purity of essence is what gives the Swarm its identity; to call it the Zerg's** **greatest strength would be to downplay its integrity to all forms of the Zerg. Without purity of essence, the Zerg would be nothing. With it, they have the potential to be anything.**


	40. The Other Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Look, I have stuff to do, mostly involving a lot of youtube videos that won't watch themselves. So, in summary, this fic is science as much as a horse can do arithmetic, which is to say not at all. Also, don't own it.
> 
> _I'm pretty sure that horses can tell the difference between one carrot and two carrots. Horses are clever animals. ~f_
> 
> Ok, but they can't tap out answers to written mathematical equations. Not because they understand them, at least.
> 
> _But they can be trained, just like we train our kids in school to remember that 2 + 2 = 4. ~f_
> 
> **(Transitions go like...**

The might of a full zerg brood was always a sight to behold. From a distance, the marching swarms were nothing more than an unstoppable tide of horns, fangs, and spines. In space, where the more esoteric forms reigned supreme, the Swarm become an eldritch force of nature, a haunting phantom emerging from the void. Fortunately for their enemies, the greater space creatures of the Swarm rarely saw the battlefield. Even for broods numbering in the millions, leviathans were costly and difficult to grow. Most of the Swarm's strains could be grown on the battlefield, but only the most expert weavers of essence would dare to grow a leviathan in combat. Even out of combat, they were notoriously tricky to maintain and birth, making them a rarity.

Daggoth, eldest cerebrate and lord of Tiamat brood, had a fleet of dozens of leviathans. Accordingly, he was the one who was sent retrieve the elder Evolution Master. On the orders of the Overmind, he split off three of his leviathans towards the inner arm of their galactic spiral. According to Abathur, the planet wasn't equipped for orbital combat, but they still had plenty of deadly weaponry. As such, despite his three leviathans Daggoth would be breeding troops and space-based strains en route.

A fleet of overlords finished transporting supplies into the leviathans, enough for extended interstellar travel. Their shells were filled with swarming masses, their bellies full of vespene, minerals and biomass. As the final overlord deposited its cargo, the leviathans lifted themselves out of orbit and towards the edge of the system.

**(Transition)**

Luna hadn't liked the Hog's Head. It was dark, small, and filled with the smell of humans. Fortunately, the DA's meeting there had been very brief. The leaders were certainly qualified, although she didn't know how good at teaching they would be. Luna had no reservations signing the contract. She had even less about leaving the dingy bar. Of course, she wasn't really sure about the rest of the people who had been there. They were humans, after all. The authority figures may have anything against her, but they wouldn't help her if things went bad.

Right now, she was making her way towards the meeting place, some room she had never heard of, which was likely perfect  _no not perfect never perfect_  for their purposes. It was rather out of the way, but Luna was close now, just one more corner and-

"Luna! I haven't seen you in forever. How long has it been?" said a form Luna never expected to see in the castle again.

"Aba- Thenabar!"

Thenabar winced.  _Don't call me that again, my Queen. My captor doesn't trust me to be alone just yet._ he said, still smiling with a close mouthed.  _"Play along, for now. We're friends that haven't seen each other in nearly a year. Play the part."_

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in months," Luna said aloud.  _"When did you get out?"_

 _Apparently, my act was more convincing than intended, and the old man was stupid enough to believe I was actually human. Now I have to act in front of a crowd of hundreds,_  he responded. "I've been...sick, for a long time. I had to get treatment for a long time. I only just got out of the hospital."

 _That's the story you're going with?_ "Well, it's nice to have you back. You're just in time. I think I almost found proof of the Rotfang conspiracy! I'm on the way to get it now, do you want to come with me?"

 _It was the one I was provided. For now, I'm a pliant pawn. My loyalty must at least appear to lie with the old human. But rest assured my Queen, I act at your will regardless of what my mouth may say._ "Maybe another time. I only just got back, and I still need some time to settle back in."

 _My Queen?_ "Alright, then. Maybe another time," Luna said, outwardly pouting. "Wait, are you back for good?"

 _You are a powerful psionic within the Swarm. It is the appropriate title._ "I think so, but I'm not sure. You know how these things are. No one's ever quite certain what's going to happen next."

 _O...k. What's the plan, then? Abathur didn't plan for this._ "Like expeditions to Norwegian fire swamps!"

 _I'll have to keep playing my role. What else is there to do?_ "...yes. Probably."

" _Well, at least we can keep each other company,_ Luna said, _You have no idea how annoying these humans-"_

"Abathur!?"

 _Well, I finally understand why humans swear. It is because they are constantly wrapped up in stupid, unpredictable bullshit like this._ Thenabar telegraphed to Luna. Outwardly, he put on a beaming expression and turned to face the brazen interlopers."Hermione, Ron, Harry! What a pleasant surprise! And it's Thenabar, actually."

"Where have you been? We haven't seen you since last year, you just disappeared out of nowhere. Did something happen to you? Did it have something to do with whatever happened to Professor Snape? Have you been keeping up with your studies? Are you going to be attending Hogwarts again?" Granger asked all of this without seeming to breathe. To Luna's surprise, Thenabar allowed her to finish, despite the increasingly intense waves of irritation she could feel emanating off of him.

"You have impressive lung capacity. It's quite admirable, really," Thenabar said in a mild tone, face set in a mild expression. Granger blushed.

"Seriously though, where have you been, mate? And why are you talking weirdly?" Weasley added. "Well, not weirdly, but for you..."

"Long story short, I was...ill. For a long time, far before I met you, even. I was only recently healed, and recovery is...ongoing," Thenabar lied.  _Take note, my Queen. Tell them anything remotely plausible with few enough details, and they'll fill in the gaps on their own. You would think they would have learned after the first thousand times._

"Sick with what?" Potter asked, before an elbow appeared in his ribs.

" _Harry!_ " Granger hissed. "You don't just ask that!"

 _Clearly, there are exceptions,_ Thenabar commented, irritation flowing off of his mind.

"It's alright, I don't mind. If you must know, my illness was of the more...mental variety. I don't know too much about it myself, but it's apparently quite rare. Among muggles, I imagine it would have been easy to spot earlier. With wizards," Thenabar shrugged. "Well, you've seen the headmaster. Yo-We're a bit too quick to dismiss a bit of oddity as normal." An awkward silence spread over the trio.  _Of course, when vagueness doesn't work, misdirection and guilt are just as effective._

The awkward silence lasted for several long seconds until Potter eventually chose to break it. "Do you want to come to our study group?"

Thenabar was silent for a second. "Are you certain? If I recall correctly, we were on quite rocky ground before my absence."

"Yeah, but that was then," Weasley dismissed.

"I'm flattered, but as I was just telling Luna here, I need some more time to get settled in before I'd be willing to participate in such extracurriculars," Thenabar declined.

 _Won't they find that odd?_ Luna questioned.

 _No more than attending their little meeting and spending more time around those insuffera-no more than them discovering that I can't cast spells,_ Thenabar replied. _Despite appearances, I am no wizard. Have faith in my abilities, my Queen. I was quite literally born for this._

"Alright then," Potter responded, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Do you think you could come another time?"

"Perhaps."

Another awkward silence emerged, during which Thenabar quietly excused himself. Luna thought she saw him shudder as he walked away, but she didn't have time to dwell on it. The rest of the humans had arrived for the meeting, and the organizers soon found themselves distracted, while Luna was pushed off to the sidelines.

When the meeting of Dumbledore's Army (a name Luna disliked immediately) actually began, she found it somewhat disappointing. They started with the disarming charm, one that she could replicate easily with telekinesis, or by breaking her enemy's hand. At the very least, the others in the room all but ignored her, letting her practice on her own. That was just about the best she could hope for from terrans.

**(Transition)**

After she had concluded her classes, Abathur summoned Luna to the Forest to learn more about the Swarm. Ignorance was an unacceptable trait for a commander of the Swarm.

"Past year, Earth Swarm...fragmentary, primitive. Now, can correct," Abathur explained, holding a small, armored worm suspended in a transparent green gel. His hands constantly merged in and out of the gel, folding and stretching it. Occasionally, he pulled a strand of gel out of his mouth, and worked it into the bubble.

"Larva. Foundation of Swarm. With stimulus, can become any strain," Abathur said. The larva bit its own tail. The gel it was suspended in darkened and formed an opaque, glistening shell. "Drone, equal importance. Gathers resources, evolves into structures." Abathur accelerated the drone's growth. The cocoon rippled as the claws, wings, and tail of the drone pushed and writhed against it. After a minute, it burst apart. The drone shoved aside the fragments and hovered in place, waiting until Luna had taken her time to observe it. She was enthusiastic in her inspection, lifting and pulling on every facet of the gatherer. It was a surprisingly thorough study, and Abathur couldn't help but to be pleased by it. The Queen of Blades had been a surprisingly adept essence weaver. He would be glad if Luna followed her example. When she was done, Abathur commanded the drone to his side. "Most important structure, hatchery. Produces more larva, more strains, spreads creep.

"Don't the ritholisks do that?" Luna asked. It was a reasonable question, given that her only exposure was to the modified birthing acromantula.

"Have been repurposed," Abathur responded, escorting the drone over to a pile of fresh biomass. It had surprised him how easy it had been to regather it. Reclaiming useless biomass was usually a much slower process. Perhaps some inherent trait of the acromantula's makeup? He would have to investigate that later.

The drone wallowed its way into the center of the biomass. With a thick squelch, the webbing between its wings slid off and over the drone, covering it and the biomass in a fleshy dome. Under it, Abathur could see the drone, now skeletal, twisted and thrashed within. Its maw bit into the biomass repeatedly, consuming the flesh and growing rapidly. From the outside, it looked like a shark, swimming in thick red water. Speaking of which, Abathur should really collect some of the aquatic predators. They were remarkably efficient killers.

The bubble burst open without preamble to reveal a rising spire, a crown of thorns and flesh. Creep raced across the open ground. Where it touched plants, they withered and died before being consumed by the purple carpet. That wasn't ideal. With a quick twist of will and a burst of power, the creep ignored the remainder of the plant life. As much as Abathur would have preferred to consume everything nearby, the first hatchery had only just formed. Discovery remained unacceptable. Of course, he may need to invest in active camouflaging techniques anyway. The hub of flesh was already poking its way above the treeline. If they were any closer to the castle, Abathur was certain even the humans' lackluster eyes could see the hatchery just by looking out the window.

Luna, meanwhile, had sprinted over to where the first larva had just crawled out of the hatchery's side. With a cry of glee, she lifted it up to her face. Tentacles curled around from Luna's back and around the larva's carapace. The larva squirmed contentedly in her grasp. Abathur was reminded of the various humans he had seen cuddling their unintelligent companions. Pets, they were called.

Well, affection was valuable. Abathur himself was living proof of the ways motivation improved efficiency. But the demonstration wasn't done yet. "Luna. Release larva. Requires creep for survival." Luna released the larva like it was explosive, letting it fall to the ground with a metallic clack, then immediately glanced down in concern.

"I didn't hurt it, right?"

"Larva, extremely durable. Could not harm unintentionally," Abathur informed her. "Hatchery will produce continually. Form basis for new brood."

"Does this mean we'll have more zerg soon?"

"Yes," Abathur said. Another larva slid out of the hatchery, ready to morph. While it fed on the creep, one of the dragons' shadows passed over it, casting the ground below into darkness.

**(Transition)**

_Cerebrate: It's like a cerberus, but with five heads instead of three. They're very, very scary puppies. Fortunately, they're also about 3 inches from snout to tail, so they're easy to deal with in small numbers._

**Cerebrate: Before broodmothers, cerebrates commanded the broods of the Swarm. They served under their maker, the Overmind. Each cerebrate commands its own brood, which it shapes into a specific tool, utilising specific tactics and niches within the swarm. Examples include Jormungand brood, lead by Cerebrate Araq, which specializes in ground based combat and direct confrontations; Fenris brood, led by Cerebrate Nargil, which served as the hunters of the Swarm, continuously tracking down new essence; and the titanic Tiamat brood, led by the eldest cerebrate, Daggoth, and specializes in advanced species and orbital combat and largely serves as the personal guard of the Overmind. Each cerebrate's physical form is that of a large, bloated larva, although this is merely the outer shell. Within, each cerebrate appears as a ball of light suspended by tentacles. The cerebrates were created by the Overmind, and the Overmind can return them to life; barring some causes of death which prevent this. In the event of true cerebrate death, the brood it commands is thrown into chaos, and must be destroyed by the other broods. Cerebrates are totally reliant on the Overmind, and could not survive long after its death. To counter this, several cerebrates may merge together and form a new Overmind. While this is an effective means of continuing the Swarm, the new Overmind can be weak and susceptible to outside influences during its infancy. Each cerebrate serves as an instrument of the Swarm's will, and the brood as an extension of their own. A cerebrate may not have its own weapons, but it is no less deadly for it.**

**...this. Next arc, fuckers!)**

_That doesn't make the joke longer than the chapter, Strandshaper. That just means that no one will understand the joke except for you and maybe Grimjaw._

_You're an idiot._

_~f_


	41. New Experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Texas is, in many regards, a second class state. It is the second largest, the second highest population, the 2 times 2 (4th) hottest (although the first on that list was Hawaii and the fifth was Arizona, which is pretty much the opposite of how it felt when I was at those states, so I'm not actually sure how accurate that list is), and probably the second at a lot of other stuff. On the other hand, I know fuck all about Texas. I am not a Texologist. What you see above and below is, unsurprisingly, not in any way scientifically sound. Also, don't own it.
> 
> _Those charts go by average temperatures, and since Hawaii is hot day and night 365.256363004 days of the year, they win the 'hottest state' competition. Technically. ~f_
> 
> **(History has shown that the most successful franchises are the ones that beat the horse into the ground until it is dead, pulped, and ground into fertilizer. And also steal from others occasionally. So I'm going to do that more now. Accordingly, transitions go like...**
> 
> **this. I'm not that out of ideas.)**   
>  _So, for some background, our glorious author forgot to finish the transition joke for this chapter, and I mocked him for having run out of ideas, and beating the metaphorical horse until it's dead, pulped up, and ground into fertilizer. Then he stole my joke so that he would look like he hasn't run out of ideas. And then, because he's really special, he used the same joke from the last chapter but in a lamer form. ~f_   
>  **(Half of a genius joke is still genius.)**   
>  _No joke is as funny the second time as it was the first. ~f_   
>  **(One third then.)**   
>  _Whatever you say, dumbo. ~f_   
>  **(There's no need to be insulting because I'm funnier than you.)**   
>  _It's funny how you mistake my disdain for jealousy. ~f_   
>  **(It's funny how you mistake your jealousy for disdain.) **  
>  _What really gets me is that you're still copying me, even though I started this by calling out your blatant unoriginality. ~f_  
>  **("I see")**  
>  _For the readers who won't get that inside joke, that's what I tell him when I'm trying to quietly back out of an argument that I've lost. ~f  
>  (Why are you copying my format.)_  
>  **(Why are you changing your format after the fact)**  
>  _Mostly because it was an aside, something that actually belongs in parentheses. But it wasn't worth putting up with your whining. ~f_  
>  **(Why do you think that's a valid excuse. And why is this conversation now one and a half pages long. And why am I not using question marks.)**  
>  _Because you never admit that you're the one who's wrong, and I'm willing to let you make a fool of yourself all night long. ~f_  
>  **(Go eat a baguette of dicks you french sounding motherfucker.)**  
>  _And here I always thought "fwexxen" sounded like gibberish. You have to pronounce feauxen right for it to sound French. (And he never does.) ~f_  
>  **(Name one person who does.)**  
>  _Hello internet. My screen name is feauxen phiy. (pronounced foe-hen fee, or foe-zen if you're Canadian)_  
>  **(So you admit nobody knows how.)**  
>  _You know how. You just pretend that you don't because it's really hard to remember. ~f_  
>  **(It's hard to remember because it's utter psuedo language nonsense.)**  
>  _It's a screen name. None of the good screen names make any sense, those ones are all taken. ~f_****

"Good job, Ginny! Just a bit more flick at the end of that severing charm, and it'll be perfect," Potter said, addressing the female Weasley. Only 5 minutes into the next DA meeting, Luna had another reason to look down on humans. The idea of perfection was a pipe dream, a fantasy, and here was a human claiming they could achieve it with a little extra movement. Almost every sentence out of their mouths was flawed. If Umbridge's class wasn't a dozen times worse, Luna would have been there.

With a dismal sigh, Luna returned her attention to her own wand, gathering her power to cast her own Diffindo. It wasn't a particularly powerful spell. If she did the same thing with her own power, Luna could create a cutting force much more forceful and on a much larger scale. The only advantage the humans had was efficiency, and the Swarm always desired that. So, here she was, flicking her wand three times to the left, lifting it up and clockwise. With a final flick down, she pointed the wand at the target and hissed out "Diffindo!" An intangible cutting force rushed out of the wood and all but bisected the dummy.

"Nice one Luna!" said an unexpected voice. Startled, Luna turned around to see Potter gazing at her, inspecting her wand. "At this rate you might give Hermione a run for her money."

Luna couldn't respond. All she could do was stare silently. This wasn't supposed to happen. Why was anyone, much less the leader of this organization paying attention to  _her_? No one ever had before. Not unless they had to, they were trying to bully her, or... Luna's eyes narrowed. Not unless they wanted something from her. "Thank you," she said cheerfully, with just the slightest bit of detachment. She couldn't let Potter know she was onto him after all.

Potter responded with a nod before moving on to the next person. That was it? No follow up, no questions, no 'suggestions'? What  _did_ Potter want with her? He must want something. Perhaps she just had to wait for him to show his hand. With a cautious glare, she resumed her severing charm practice. Potter didn't come back around to her again, although he did nod in her direction as the club wrapped up. Clearly, he was willing to play the long game. That was fine. Luna would remain on her guard as long as necessary. She wouldn't be fooled by the human's kindness. They always had an agenda. Right?

**(Transition)**

Abathur had never been comfortable with stillness. There was always a pulsing vein, a flexing muscle, an expanding lung, or some other moving part anywhere he looked. Even in death, the little shudders of escaping air or the twitches as rigor mortis took hold kept the corpse moving. There was none of that in the zergling suspended before him. It was frozen, the only movement anywhere a slight shimmer around it's skin. It was completely and utterly still, and Abathur couldn't be happier about it.

The protoss had stasis wards that froze his forces in time. He had now acquired the humans' method of constructing wards. Perhaps only the phrase was the same, but now that he was reunited with the Swarm, he had all the time in the world to experiment in any direction he chose. Naturally, he had began with the weavers, his newest creation, and in all likelihood the only one that he would keep from his time on this planet. The first thing he had done was order them to construct equivalents to the protoss stasis wards. Abathur had expected them to use the better part of the planet's rotation to do so.

They had completed the first version in half an hour, then went through several improved versions for another two before arriving at their final product. The weavers at work were truly a thing of beauty. Every movement was deliberate, each marking entwined with all the others in intricate ways even Abathur could only barely understand. He could only assume that it was how others felt when he was working on his own projects. Even the final ward has surpassed his expectations. Rather than the unstable, indiscriminate burst that the protoss used, the weaver's ward used a delicate touch, capturing only what it wished to and holding them seemingly as long as desired. The zergling in front of Abathur had been locked into its current position for well over a day now with no signs of the ward weakening. Abathur could already think of upwards of a dozen uses for this ward alone, and it was only one of the first design they had produced. The weavers were a work of art. They were all he could have hoped to gain from psionics and then some.

Daggoth's fleet wouldn't be here for a very long time. He was, at a minimum, going to be stuck on this planet for over a year. He had considered that a necessary price. Now, it was looking more and more like a glorious opportunity.

**(Transition)**

"How was your first week back, Thenabar?"Dumbledore asked the boy sitting across his desk, the subject of his and the various portraits' stares. The child looked so small in the office, glancing nervously at the moving pictures. He seemed so much like a normal student.

"It was an...experience. That's probably the right word. What do you call it when you have to be with all of those people at once?" Thenabar replied with a puzzled expression.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I believe that is called 'life'. It is something we all must get used to sooner or later."

"I don't think I like it," Thenabar said. "I've never had to do it before."

"Nevertheless, it is something you now have to do," Dumbledore said, leaning forward with his hands together. "Life has a habit of introducing changes, and sometimes we might not like them." Was that irritation in the boy's eyes? "Nevertheless, we must embrace them, if only because we have no choice in the matter."

"Why can't we just change it back?" Thenabar asked, still looking puzzled.

"Some things cannot be reversed Thenabar, no matter how dearly we wish otherwise. The only thing anyone can do is adapt." Dumbledore sighed, putting on a forlorn face and lowering his head. "Of course, we can always help each other." Dumbledore locked his eyes with Thenabar's and dove into his mind.

A swarm of billions of minds, storm of thoughts and feelings, a vast collection of flesh and bone spanning stars. Flows of lava fell off an alien cliff, three mountain sized beasts swam through the inky void, titanic spires of flesh played host to elongated bats. Mutalisk. Baneling. Zergling. Roach, ravager, hydralisk, lurker, larva, drone, a tidal wave of names. Ruin and destruction, a creeping wave of death, a dark voice in the void, a titanic presence. Nothing left but the Swarm. The Swarm was everywhere, the Swarm was everything. The Swarm wanted everything. The Swarm had an intruder in its midst. The Swarm thrashed and swayed, seeking out the interloper. Within its vast collective, the Swarm found the single mind that sought to invade it. The Swarm cast the intruder out of itself...andDumbledore was slammed back into his seat.

Thenabars arm shot out and grabbed Dumbledore's throat slamming him back into his chair. Thin ribbons of flesh peeled off his skin and shot towards Dumbledore, intent on impaling him. If the flat expression of terror on Thenabar's face was anything to go by, he had as much control over it as the headmaster did. The strips of skin lashed out at Dumbledore, before being halted by a hasty shield charm. Severus's bloodied face forced itself into Dumbledore's mind. The tendrils prodded at the invisible wall for a few seconds before seemingly giving up and burrowing back into Thenabar's flesh. Abruptly, the arm's grip vanished. Thenabar jerked his arm back, holding it close against his chest.

"Why did you do that?" Thenabar asked in an accusatory tone.

Dumbledore hesitated. "I had hoped to catch Abathur off guard," he said.

"He's never off guard. Especially not around you." Thenabar said in a wavering voice, eyes remaining locked on his arm.

"Just what is Abathur?"

"You wouldn't understand me if I told you. You can't," Thenabar said, still clearly shellshocked "May I leave now? Please."

"Of course." Thenabar stood up and walked out of the room silently, his gaze never straying from his arm. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Dumbledore alone except for the portraits, allowing him to ruminate on his mistake. Clearly, trying to peer into Abathur's mind was a fool's errand. Trying to fightit would be like fighting a nest of basilisks dosed with Re'em blood. Whatever had made its nest within his student's mind was there to stay. Dumbledore knew that should be troubling. Merlin, it should be terrifying to have been overwhelmed so easily. But there was something troubling him, something distracting him from that whirlpool of nightmares.

Try as he might, he couldn't recall encountering Thenabar's mind.

_(Why does he never put transitions after the chapters?) ~f_

**(It's a very long story involving beer, water buffalo, and a rancid sock, and the fact that when uploading to Ao3 I added all of them as I was copying and pasting. Don't ask.)**

_That's what they all say… ~f_

_Weavers: Long ago, there was a woman named Arachne. She was really, really good at weaving, so Athena got jealous and turned her into a spider. Then, in her infinite wisdom, Athena decided to claim that she was the best weaver in all the land, despite the fact that people had seen Arachne beat Athena in an unbiased contest of skill, and then turned Arachne into a spider._

_Athena was a bit of a bitch._

**Weaver: The Swarm's modus operandi is to move from planet to planet and assimilate any local wildlife they can get their wide range of grasping appendages on. Even when stranded, isolated, and near helpless, zerg strive to take in as much essence as possible to further their evolution. On Earth, this strategy resulted in the creation of the weavers. Derived from acromantulas, weavers bear a strong resemblance to their more primitive forebears. They possess eight hairy limbs, a set of flexible mandibles, and a thick abdomen. However, behind their carapace, the weavers possess a vastly different set of tools, all designed for the sole purpose of constructing ward schemes. Their instincts were built specifically around the rules of runes, allowing them to understand their craft at an unparalleled level. Their web production organs have been moved to the bottom of their head, allowing the weaver to expel webs through its mouth and form intricate patterns using their mandibles. The abdomen has been converted into a colony for the Hive, a race of smaller infested insects, which the weaver commands for larger scale and fine detail changes. While the weaver can engage in combat directly, its main strength lies in its unparalleled ability to construct wards at a whim. Simple schemes can be fabricated and launched through its mouth, while more complex and permanent designs can be affixed to creep and maintained indefinitely. Although the strain is still in its infancy and has yet to develop wards useful to the Swarm at large, its potential among the zerg strains is all but unmatched. With the essence of magic in its grasp, the weaver may just be the harbinger of the Swarm's total victory.**


	42. Wheels Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: A trend I've noticed occasionally among fanfiction authors is to assign their characters a theme song. I personally don't understand that trend. Sure, the song may contain heavy symbolism related to the fic, or have similar themes and messages, but the vast majority, when you get down to it, are basically user's guides to human reproduction. This seems wildly inappropriate, since while I have seen quite a few fics that contain the beginning steps of this process, I haven't seen any that describe people in the more interesting parts of pregnancy. I should know, I've looked very hard. The closest I've gotten is gross exaggerations of the capacity of human uteruses (uteri?). I should know, I've looked very hard. Either way, none of this is a problem for my fic, because Blizzard has kindly provided me with a theme song for Abathur made long before I even conceived of this fic. It is a track called Heart of the Swarm, in the soundtrack for Heart of the Swarm, with a glorious beat that sounds like the heart of the Swarm. It is very good. I should also stress especially heavily in this chapter that none of this is based on actual science. The below is plausible sounding nonsense, nothing more. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Fuck you Gabe these are my jokes you can't have them.)**
> 
> _Who's Gabe? ~f_
> 
> **(A dirty thief. And that's all you need to know.)**
> 
> _(Gabe is actually a decent guy who was just making a joke, but we all know how bad Strandshaper is with jokes.) ~f_

Most of the time, Abathur considered explosions to be a bad thing. When experimenting on banelings, however, he was more than willing to make an exception to this rule. Of course, working with the living acid bombs ended with explosions more often than not, regardless of what he wanted. This was especially true at the moment, as he was attempting to add the primer fluid for dragon fire into them.

The first experiment had gone poorly. Abathur had taken a baneling, suspended it in the stasis ward, then jabbed a hole in it while filling the sac with the dragon's fluids. Unfortunately, it had turned out that the two reacted to each other, rather violently at that. This in and of itself might not have been a problem, if it hadn't turned out that the acid prevented the dragon fluid from igniting.

Abathur's next attempt had him adding oxygen-containing struts to the core proteins of the banelings acid. This let the dragon fluid combust easily, but the acid clumped too easily, making it more like putty than a liquid. Any baneling that he forced to produce the mixture seized up and died, without even exploding. Clearly, that idea was doomed to failure. Rather than continue along that path, Abathur decided to add a third substance, one with multiple purposes. First, it would inhibit the reaction between the acid and the dragon fire until the baneling added its own igniter fluid to its payload. Second, it would provide fuel for the fire once the explosion had actually taken place. In smaller scale experiments, the mixture proved quite successful. Of course, the full scale implementation had issues. They always did. Fortunately the problem was relatively minor in this case; the inhibitor had a small failure rate, and small scale reactions took place across the gland. This only had the effect of causing the baneling to shimmer orange, so Abathur determined that correcting the flaw was unnecessary. With the mixture at least workable, it was almost simple to add the same quality to the roach's acid. Abathur wasn't sure that it would be a permanent addition, but he could always purge the trait later.

His next project was adding the psionic resistance to the armor of the various strains. Between the troll, acromantula, dragon, and basilisk essence, it was easy to see exactly how the psionics were dampened. Modifying each strain he currently had access to to replicate that was more tedious than difficult. He tested it as well as he could with his own spell casting abilities, but it would likely need combat to provide adequate stressors. That was fine. If there was anything the Swarm could find, it was conflict. Abathur doubted he'd need to wait very long.

**(Transition)**

Thenabar never ceased to be surprised at how much credulence humans had regarding physical ailments. Give them any vague deadline or any stupid symptom, and they simply accepted it as fact, no questions asked. Can't cast spells? Physical ailment. Can't perform well in class? Physical ailment. At this point, the only conclusion Thenabar could draw was that humans were so frail and suffered from such a wide assortment of diseases that they just had to accept whatever the person in front of them said, if only because they didn't know enough to refute it. It would've almost been comical if it weren't so pathetic.

Of course, he still had to play the part. He kept his skin intentionally pale, made veins visible in his eyes, added a slight preference for his left leg, and a few other minor details that cemented his reputation as a sickly student who had just returned from the hospital. For the most part, it seemed to have worked extremely well. The teachers fawned over him or ignored him altogether. Even the new potions teacher, while equally incompetent, paid no attention to his predecessor's killer. The Slytherins had already solidified their hierarchy and collectively saw him as a non-entity, a role Thenabar was perfectly happy to fill. The other students ignored him all together. Even the Evolution Master's former camouflage hadn't attempted to approach him.

It was disturbing how easy it had been to pick up human mannerisms. Thenabar had even caught himself  _whistling_  as he walked. Well, it wasn't the worst habit he could have acquired. Occasionally, he decided to indulge in the hobby while going from class to class. It was in one of these whistling sessions while on his way to his dorm after classes had concluded that he stumbled across a distinctly distressed looking Luna.

"You look to be in a rather poor state of mind," Thenabar said.

"Thenabar!" Luna's somewhat desperate gaze latched onto the metamorph. "You can read minds right?"

Thenabar scanned their surroundings for any sentient minds. Finding none, he hazarded a confused response."...To some degree, yes. Can you not?" Luna shook her head. "That's odd. The terran psionics were almost universally adept at it. Genetic shift perhaps?"

"Does that really matter right now?" Luna said in clear frustration.

"Well, it's interesting. And you haven't exactly explained whatever matter you find more urgent," Thenabar said, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, right. It's Potter," Luna scowled. "Ever since I joined his club, he's been trying to get something from me, and I can't figure out what."

Thenabar shrugged. "It could be any number of things. He could be making a cult of personality, could be seeking to consolidate power, could be interested in reproduction. Depends. How has he been soliciting you?"

"Every time he sees me, he greets me. Without fail, every time!  _Every time!_ Even Granger's doing it. He acknowledges me in the club, he gives me tips. And he's never so much as asked for a spare sheet of paper! He wants  _something,_ and I can't figure it out!" Luna ended her list with an exasperated cry.

"Have you considered asking him?" Thenabar suggested, stroking his chin. After a moment, he stopped and looked down at his hand in surprise. Luna just stared at him incredulously.

"Of course not. He won't just  _admit_ what he wants," she said. "That's what I asked you for."

Thenabar blinked. "Well, if the straightforward route is out of the question, that only leaves wild speculation." Thenabar sighed. What utterly... _human_ behavior he had to resort to. "If Granger's in on it, then he most likely isn't seeking to reproduce. From his perspective, he has no social clout to gain from befriending you, unless he's absolutely desperate, which...is not impossible. But there are two more likely possibilities. Either he wishes to recruit you for your martial ability, or..." Thenabar stopped mid sentence.

"Or what?"

"How active have you been in this club of his?"

Now it was Luna's turn to blink. "I haven't done that much. I've done a lot better than the others, but they aren't one of us. Why?"

Thenabar hesitated. "This is  _just_ a theory. I can't honestly wrap my head around it myself. The kind of behavior you're observing is common. That is, among human comrades."

"That's ridiculous," Luna immediately refuted.

"I wouldn't dismiss it that easily. You have been in a relatively small group for some time. You've done well enough to attract attention. A sense of comradery from Potter and Granger is not out of the question."

"I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"I'm guessing, just  _guessing_ , mind you, that they may consider you to be a comrade.

Luna's head shook frantically"They're humans. They won't be nice to me just because we spent a few hours together," Luna said. "That's ridiculous!"

"They think you're human. It's unfortunately possible," Thenabar grimaced. "Of course, it could be something else. Remain on your guard."

"Will do! Thanks for the help Aba-Thenabar," Luna blushed.

"It's fine," Thenabar dismissed, one side of his mouth turned upwards. "This was his face long before he gave it to me. Now, don't we both have classes to pretend to pay attention to?"

"I guess we do," Luna pouted. "Thanks for the advice. It's been a while since I've been able to talk to you or Abathur."

"We're both busy, you know that. But still, feel free to visit him when you can. I'm sure he has things he wants to talk to you about."

"Sounds good," Luna said. "So..I'll see you later then?"

"More than likely," Thenabar said. "Goodbye." The two undercover zerg departed, each heading towards their classes. Neither of them paid attention to the decorations on the wall.

**(Transition)**

"...And then he said 'This was his face long before he gave it to me'" Phineas Black asked from his frame on the office wall. Albus listened gravely to the recitation of his students' conversation. He was honestly surprised at how effective recruiting the portraits of Hogwarts as a monitor was. Dumbledore wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't done something like this years ago.

"Just what kind of half-breeds have you invited into my school Albus? The werewolf was bad enough, but now you have little face changing vermin rounding around the halls! This is an outrage!" Ah yes, that was it. It was quite hard to work around their tendency to add their own, unsolicited commentary.

"Worry not, Phineas. I'm sure the problem will resolve itself sooner or later," Albus placated the long dead headmaster.

"Hmph. It better," Phineas folded his arms, and turned away, before exiting his frame and leaving Albus to his own devices.

The portraits were only human in the end, something that Thenabar almost certainly wasn't. Even more troublingly, there was more than one, within Hogwarts itself even. And even worse, if the was possible, whatever Thenabar was, whatever  _Abathur_ was, it could spread. Dumbledore knew the Lovegood girl. She had been human at birth, even if she wasn't now. This could lead to potential destruction at the scale of lycanthropy or vampirism.

But by far the worst part of it was that Dumbledore couldn't do a Merlin-damned thing about it.

Between Voldemort, the Order, Umbridge, and the constant political games from the Ministry, Dumbledore was pulled too thin. His movements in the school were scrutinized far too closely for him to act against Thenabar, not without notice. Severus's death had shown that he was far too dangerous to trust to someone else, and that might very well apply to Lovegood as well. One of these obstacles, Dumbledore might be able to overcome, but not all of them put together. He was paralyzed.

Oh, he wasn't entirely out of options. He could ask his teachers to keep an eye on the two of them, and whoever they stuck around. Thenabar was a returning student recovering from an illness, and Flitwick had noted Lovegood's disconnect with the rest of his ravens years ago. They wouldn't think much of it. The portraits could help out as well. At the very least, Dumbledore could keep abreast of the situation. Unfortunately, that almost certainly wouldn't be enough.

The headmaster cradled his head in his hands, feeling the beginnings of a headache start to take root. Once, just once, he would like to have a problem with an easy solution.

**(Transition)**

_Thenabar: Basically the words "Then a bar" crammed together._

**Thenabar: Infiltration is not one of the Swarm's strengths. It rarely has the need to learn about its enemies in any great detail. Even the changeling, the shapeshifting infiltration unit, is barely sophisticated enough to pass itself off as a member of another species for more than a few hours. However, while stranded on Earth, Abathur was forced to create a specialized strain to replace him while he hid and developed his own brood, a single individual that has come to be known as Thenabar, if only because that was what it was called on a regular basis. Originally an experimental strain based on boggart essence, Thenabar is one of the most flexible members of the Zerg Swarm, capable of transforming in an almost infinite number of ways. Combined with his ability to sense the emotions and thoughts of those around him, Thenabar is an expert actor and manipulator of sentient life. Due to necessity, he possesses an unprecedented amount of freedom for zerg, especially considering he is the only sentient entity without significant psionic power. While Thenabar is currently the only member of his strain and is unavailable for further experimentation, the Swarm may yet produce more when the need arises.**


	43. Grawping Scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: School. Schooling, education. Fuuuuunnnn, as long as you ignore the n's. I'm so happy to be back into it, sitting in tiny desks for ~75 minutes straight. I absolutely love it. Or loathe it. Depends on the day of the week. It does have a lot of science though, unlike this fic. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Living to dead is a very fun transition, speaking from an authorial perspective.)**
> 
> _Our author is a psychopath. |~f_
> 
> **(Never denied it)**
> 
> _Our author is a psychopath and he doesn't see a problem with that. God help us all. ~f_

The next meeting of the DA, Luna made a point of paying close attention to how Potter and his friends acted towards the others there. Aside from a few humans he was especially close to, he treated all of the attending members with the same courtesy he had been showing her. He spread his attention evenly, helping each member equally. Including Luna. It was odd, to say the least. Odd to be a part of a group, to not be singled out and isolated. She couldn't say she didn't like it. She couldn't say she liked it either. All she could say was that it was...different.

It wasn't even just Potter anymore. The others were following his example. They were including Luna, asking her questions, listening to her. It was a very different experience to feel as much a part of the room as the scent of sweat that accompanied it. Among the Swarm, the connection to those around was natural, a default state of being. To be treated like this among humans felt more like an aberration, a blight against the world's natural order. Every action, every word she had to say felt forced and awkward, as though there was a set of rules about conversation that she didn't know. Luna had no idea how to deal with it. So in lieu of finding an actual answer she settled for attacking her partner in particularly creative ways.

Hannah Abbott had started off with a simple tactic; throwing up a shield, and firing a few stunners at Luna, which were easily dodged. She counterattacked with a blasting charm at the floor, throwing up a cloud of dust that she banished towards her opponent. While Abbott was temporarily blinded, Luna circled around her, casting levitation charms repeatedly. She felt one connect, right as a gust of wind blew away the dust. Abbott turned towards Luna victoriously, a spell on her lips, right as Luna moved her wand tip up, causing to Abbott follow suit.

Taking advantages of Abbott's startlement, Luna began casting another spell, moving her wand through the motions of a stunner. Interestingly, this also forced Abbott to fly around, crashing her into the ground and disorienting her even more. By the time she was done casting, the Hufflepuff wasn't in any condition to maintain a shield, leaving Luna's free to disarm her and bring an end to their bout.

"Nice job, Luna," said Weasley, the one closest to Potter. The compliment confused Luna. Not so much because of the content, but because she didn't know how she was supposed to respond to it.

"Thank you," she said, forcing on a small smile.

"You're welcome. I haven't seen anyone use spells like that since..." Weasley grimaced. "Well, since Abathur. But you probably picked it up from him, right?"

How much could she tell him? He already knew part of it so Luna decided to present a simple truth. "Yes, a bit. Although he didn't have much time before..."

"Yeah. He stopped hanging out with us a lot before that though. It seems like such a stupid thing now," Weasley commented. What was she supposed to say here? She wished Thenabar were here. In the absence of anything more obvious to do, Luna stayed silent. "He probably saved my life first year too. "Say, I don't suppose you know any more details about what happened to him?"

"It's...not my place to say," Luna said hesitantly.

"Fair enough. I'm sorry to bother you about him," Weasley said. He turned to walk away. "Anyway, keep up the good work."

"Why do you think you and Abathur never made up?" The words escaped Luna's mouth before she realized she had said them, causing her jerk back in shock.

Weasley looked puzzled for a second. "Well, we didn't have much time before whatever happened happened. Maybe he just felt awkward about the whole thing. He wanted to make up and didn't know how, and didn't have time to figure it out. I mean, we all want to have friends, but a lot of us don't really know how to make them," Weasley said. "Sorry to vent at you again."

"It's fine," Luna amended. "It was interesting to listen to."

Weasley raised an eyebrow, then lowered it and nodded. "Alright then. I'd better head back to the rest of the DA, then. Keep doing what you're doing." With that, he turned his face and his attention elsewhere. Luna began her second round against Abbott, but she couldn't keep her mind focused on her opponent. This twisted reflection of companionship...was this all the humans could aspire to? This false comradery, where everyone was too wrapped up in their own heads to think about the people around them? To think that humans were fumbling in the dark for  _this_ , simply boggled the mind. Luna had never before realized just how lucky she was that Abathur had brought her into the Swarm's fold. It was a pity that the rest of the humans couldn't join it like she did.

**(Transition)**

From above, the Forbidden Forest looked like a mottled sea of green. Through the dragon's eyes, Abathur could see trees stretching for miles in every direction. It was a standard mission, and since dragons were faster and less conspicuous than overlords, they were ideal for scouting work. And when they did find something, they were more than equipped to deal with it. So when the dragon heard the distinct sound of cracking wood and saw a birds scattering out of the trees, Abathur directed the gargantuan reptile straight towards it.

Once overhead, Abathur could see the cause. A titanic humanoid, grasping a tree like a twig and dragging it through the dirt. It wasn't something Abathur had seen before. He would have assumed something that large would die without the cardial adaptations he put into his own strains. Even through the dragon's comparatively limited senses, he could detect the potency of the oversized humanoid's essence. He wanted it, but perhaps more importantly he wanted to test his new strains.

Abathur directed the dragon low over the woods, instructing it to spew flames to the side of the giant humanoid, burning apart the ropes tying it down. Irritating. The dragon had just enough time to hear its fearful roar before it ascended back into the sky, tracking the giant's path away from the flames. Abathur moved some zerglings and banelings off the creep and ran them into the giant's path. The dragon flew overhead, following the trail of uprooted trees and panicked yelps. Occasionally, it let loose a blast of fire to keep the giant on the right track.

The giant had ran for a good mile or so before it the Evolution Master sprung his trap. Giant splashes of green and orange acid leapt out from the ground below its foot, destroying the limb up to the joint. The giant tumbled to the ground, screaming in pain. A flood of zerglings spilled out from the surrounding woods and charged the downed behemoth. The first wave barely managed to sink their scythes into its flesh before the giant's remaining fist smashed them away, snapping more than a few spines. From the dragon's point of view, Abathur could see that the scythes had only just penetrated the humanoid's thick hide. Good. That made this specimen even more useful. The second wave of chittering zerglings threw themselves towards the giant, while Abathur gathered his own strength to heal the damaged zerglings. As he released his mending energy the first wave of zerglings was pulled back together, bones and muscles sliding back into place with a satisfying crack.

The giant, now visibly flowing with invigorating adrenaline, had already swatted away more of the other zerglings. Again, it had taken minimal damage. How irritating. Several mutalisks stretched out their wings and lifted themselves from their perch on the spawning spire. With a horrific screech, they flew off to assist their gravity-bound brethren. In the meantime, Abathur ordered several zerglings to pull back and mutate. Armored carapaces consumed them and dissolved the flesh within, reshaping them into another wave of banelings.

"Where are ye Grawp?" came a somewhat panicked voice, drifting into the ears of the zerglings. Abathur shifted the dragon's gaze towards the source. Involuntarily, a low growl escaped his throat. The hybrid, followed closely by his former camouflage, was approaching his hunting expedition. That was...irritating. He couldn't have them interfere, but killing them would cause...complications. Humans had given this forest a reputation for menacing creatures, a couple more wouldn't be all that noticeable. Not when there were no humans who could recognize the zerg for what they were. But when humans were killed the survivors took notice, and that lead to a harsh response.

He would just have to ward them off. The reinforcing mutalisks swooped lower to the ground, firing their explosive glaive wurms into the trunks of the trees around the interlopers. The wurms dug into the wood, before launching off into another and another tree. With a series of sharp cracks, the towering pines fell into the human's path. From what little of his knowledge of human expressions he could recall, Abathur believed they appeared shocked. All except for the hybrid, who was simply enraged. Was it related to the prey? Entirely possible, as that would explain the more extravagant physical features. Whatever the case may be, as soon as it caught site of the Swarm's hunt, it lost all sense of reason, shoving aside the fallen trunks like they were mere twigs and marching towards the Swarm, shouting loudly. Abathur ordered the mutalisks to keep delaying the hybrid.

Meanwhile, the giant continued to swat at the zerglings, seemingly emboldened by the presence of its lesser kin. It didn't matter, of course, because Abathur continued to heal his minions. But the fight was still taking too long, and he needed to finish this quickly. Abathur directed the newly morphed banelings to the giants extremities. They detonated, leaving the troublesome essence immobile and defenseless. Hmm. Abathur probably didn't even need to finish it off now.

The dragon swooped down with a boom, crashing itself onto the crippled torso. It snapped open its mouth and latched it onto the neck, while the claws attached themselves to the sides. With ponderous flaps of the dragon's wings, Abathur claimed his essence. The dragon ascended into the sky and rocketed towards the hive cluster, causing loud screams from the humans, mostly incoherent but for one "Grawp!". Right. They were still there. The heads of the zerglings turned towards the interference in unison. Well, he did need to scare them off. Abathur set the zerglings off to pursue them, and turned his own eyes towards his new collection of interesting essence. He was sure he would find plenty of uses for it.

**(Transition)**

"Hagrid, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. What seems to be the problem?" Dumbledore greeted his visitors, noting their haggard and panicky appearance. He would have preferred to keep his distance from Harry until he was certain of the nature of the boy's scar, but this seemed to be an exceptional circumstance, if Hagrid's blubbering tears were any indication.

"Well...we're not quite sure Professor," Hermione began hesitantly, "Hagrid was just taking us out to show us something in the Forbidden Forest, but then we ran across a giant! And the giant was being attacked by these weird creatures, I've never seen anything like them in my books!"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Hagrid? Why were you taking students into the Forest?"

"I was jus'...I was jus' worried 'bout Grawp. With Umbridge lookin' to get me fired, and what happened with Aragog..." Hagrid choked out another sob. "Someone needed teh look after 'im."

"And who, exactly is Grawp?" Dumbledore asked.

"Me 'alf-brother. My big little brother." A full giant? He hadn't been aware that Hagrid had family on his mother's side. "Or he was," Hagrid broke down into tears again.

"Oh, I'm sorry Hagrid, I had no idea," Hermione said, leaning over to Hagrid. It did Dumbledore's heart good to see the compassion of the younger generation. If only the circumstances could have permitted more of it.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, would you mind explaining exactly what happened? From the beginning, if you would be so kind."

Harry glared at the headmaster. Oh dear. "Why should I tell  _you_ anything?" This was not a confrontation he wanted to have right now.

"Mate, come on," Mr. Weasley interjected, jerking his head towards Hagrid. "Time and place."

Harry followed Ron's gaze and, after a moment of indecision, released his tension. "Fine," he eventually consented. There was a period of awkward silence before Ron eventually decided to start. The youngest Weasley boy described how the trio had followed Hagrid quite a ways into the woods, only to find signs of a dragon attack. They'd followed the trail of burning trees and seen the giant besieged by vicious insect-like creatures. How Hagrid had rushed ahead but not gotten there in time. How a dragon had landed and pulled the giant away, and how the creatures had chased them out of the woods.

"And what, precisely were these creatures?"

"We aren't sure Professor, we were hoping you would know," Hermione returned to the conversation.

"Describe them, if you would," Dumbledore asked, leaning forward and steepling his hands.

"Well, I didn't get a very good view of them, but I think they had tusks and extra legs with claws on top of their backs. Oh, and they definitely had wings. They had very big wings too, kind of like a wasp's or a dragonfly's."

Dumbledore's blood grew cold. His muscles tensed up, causing every ache and pain he had accumulated with age reared their ugly heads with a vengeance. With an errant flick of his wand, his pensieve lifted itself onto his desk. Dumbledore put the Elder Wand to his own head and pulled out his memories of the failed legilimency attempt on Thenabar. He grimaced. They were clearly corrupted, dark and mottled, with a purple barbed spiral prominently displayed in the center of the pool. The memory itself would almost certainly be distorted, but Dumbledore had little choice. He tapped the wand to the rim of the bowl, causing a static image to project above the muddied liquid. "By any chance, did it look anything like this?"

"Yeah, it looked...exactly like that. How did you know?" Harry looked at the headmaster accusingly.

"Let's just say I have some recent experience with them," Dumbledore said. To an outsider, he probably sounded perfectly calm. At least he hoped he did. With luck, the mad panic rushing through his mind wasn't breaking out into his words. "They are quite dangerous. You would do well to stay far away from them in the future, if at all possible." He had thought those creatures were constructs, interpretations his own mind created! Not true beings of flesh and blood!

"You know, now that I can see them clearly, they kinda look like the winged ants in Mum's garden," Ron added.

Oh Merlin. Dumbledore quickly clamped down on the growing worry resulting from Ron's statement. "Interesting observation Mr. Weasley. I will keep it in mind. Now, if that's all, I'm quite sure that you have plenty of schoolwork to be doing." The recruiter ants. How long had Abathur been active? How long had his influence been spreading? Just how long had this terror been growing under his nose?

"Are you kidding me? You're shutting us out again?" Harry yelled. "Hagrid just watched his brother die, and you're not going to tell us a thing?"

"Mr. Potter, I barely know more about these creatures than you do. Regardless of what I told you, you could do nothing about it."

"That's bullshite, and you know it!"

"Harry!" Granger scolded her enraged friend.

"What? It's true!"

"Mr. Potter, your frustration is entirely reasonable. But I don't have any answers that could satisfy your questions." And it was true. Dumbledore was only just beginning to understand the horrors that seemed to have taken root in the Forbidden Forest, only just beginning to understand how they may relate to previous events.

"Mate, do you really want to do this right here?" Ron said, gesturing at Hagrid's blubbering form. That seemed enough to defuse Harry's anger.

"No," the boy said. "Not here. Not now." But the look he gave Dumbledore made it clear that this wasn't a discussion that could be put off forever. But Dumbledore had other things on his mind. He barely even noticed when the visitors filed out of his office, too busy trying to stay upright. The second they were out of sight, he plunged his hand into the pensieve.

The first few seconds of the memory contained nothing but darkness. Then came the familiar rush of creatures and names. This time, with the benefit of all his facilities, and the knowledge that everything he saw could very well come to Hogwarts, the horror was all but overwhelming. The three titanic beasts he had seen...these  _leviathans_...had him scrambling back in sheer terror. The monsters had to be the size of London, each, and that wasn't even including the massive fleet of smaller beings escorting them. Each image only made him worse. With the benefit of a clear mind, he was free to shrivel back at the millions of creatures that crawled on the surface of every world he saw. The names swam through his mind, but too quickly for him to really register. And there seemed to be different worlds. Whenever Dumbledore managed to pull his head out of his hands to look up, he saw no recognizable constellations or familiar planets. And there seemed to be more than just one sky...oh sweet Merlin, had this demonic swarm had crossed the stars themselves?

The memory had played itself to the end, ejecting Dumbledore back to a reality that was somehow worse than the visions he had just subjected himself to. Those creatures were coming,  _had already came,_ to his front door, to Hogwarts itself. He could already smell the sickly sweet scent present everywhere in the memory, already see the doors cut apart and torn off the wall, already see the students being covered by the tides of blades.

Morgana's wand, they had already gotten one of his students, right under his nose. This was Gellert and Tom all over again, this was worse than both of them put together. And he had been teaching them! He had taught them how to use runes, how to cast spells, how to do everything a wizard could! Dumbledore lay, almost comatose in his chair for a few minutes, utterly unresponsive, before Fawkes' song pulled him back to a coherent state. Only then did he begin to think.

They hadn't killed the witnesses. From what Dumbledore had seen, they easily could have. That meant they were either unwilling to kill them, or... the beasts here were weaker than the ones on other planets. And if they were weaker, then perhaps he could deal with them.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would assemble the Order and head into the forest. He would exterminate these creatures. He would use every spell at his disposal, even Fiendfyre if the situation called for it. Two dark lords may have slipped past him, but this...this, he would not let continue.

**(Transition)**

_Dragon_ **:** _Protip: do not attempt to train one unless you're a viking named Hiccup._

**Dragon: There is very little left to say about the flying fire breathing tanks that are dragons. They are creatures of terror and wonder, omnipresent in stories across the world. Each is a fearsome predator that can turn nearly any part of its body into a deadly weapon that can crush, burn, or tear at its prey. They are fearsome. They are deadly. And now, they are Zerg.**


	44. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: So I've recently been informed this is not legally required. I mean, I probably should have figured that, given that I use this bit more to make jokes and various complaints, as well as repeatedly and emphatically state that none of the following is scientific. Still, I kind of assumed that since everyone else did it, there must be a reason. That's how we end up confusing fanon and canon, I suppose. Probably some interesting psychology in there, which is...kind of scientific? Does psychology count as a science, or is it more along the lines of medicine or therapy? Probably a bit of both depending on what branch of the field you're talking about. Well, either way, Catalyst conforms to none of it. Also, don't own it.
> 
> _Oh boy. He's getting introspective again. At least he's not being a loud-and-proud psychopath anymore. ~f_
> 
> **(This section, on the other hand, is legally required. It will never stop. Ever. This is the eternal transition. That is life. Which I use to write transition jokes.)**
> 
> _Aaaaaaand...he's back. ~f_

Dumbledore strode cautiously through the Forbidden Forest. Behind him followed several members of the Order; Kingsley, Tonks, Alastor, and Hestia, all the trained Aurors he could spare from guarding the Department of Mysteries, on a mission to find out more of the threat they all faced. Each of them was trained and prepared to enter combat at a moment's notice. He only hoped they would be enough.

"So, what do these things even look like?" Kingsley asked, eyes scanning the surrounding trees with an experienced eye. He was tense. They all were after Albus had told them what they were hunting. Dumbledore expected nothing less. If they hadn't been apprehensive after learning of their current 'prey,' The old man would have been quite worried.

"They possess a variety of forms, I'm afraid. Most of them are vaguely insectoid, but you will know them when you see them," Dumbledore said as he lead the way into the Forbidden Forest's depths.

"And where exactly are these buggers?" Alastor said, eye spinning. "Haven't side head or tail of 'em since we got here. Are you sure you know where they are, Albus?"

"I'm afraid I don't. Fortunately, the centaurs have been keeping tabs on them, so we'll consult them before we head their ourselves."

Alastor grunted. "I hope they can offer us reinforcements. If they have even one of those giant things, we're all going to die."

"Alastor, the creatures failed to kill several of my students."

"Right after they killed a giant, if I heard you right."

"Merlin," Tonks said under her breath.

Albus grimaced, but looked around. The others in the group were clearly shaken. Dumbledore saw Kingsley reflexively tighten and loosen his grip around his wand, while Tonks' hair was shifting through a number of increasingly vibrant shades. Hestia's breaths were becoming increasingly shallow. "We are not here to mount an assault, but merely to judge the threat. We shouldn't get into any situation we cannot escape from by withdrawing. Should the centaurs offer their aid, however, I see no reason to refuse their offer. Ideally, we won't be fighting at all. We are merely here to gather... information." The trees parted, giving sight to the location of the centaur's colony.

The only thing that met their eyes was total destruction. The ruins of houses were strewn haphazardly across the clearing, mixed in with deep scores in the earth and broken arrows scattered seemingly randomly among the debris. "Merlin's saggy scrotum," Hestia gasped. "What happened here?"

"An attack." There was no doubt or hesitation in Alastor's tone.

"There's plants growing on the debris," Kingsley added, kneeling down to inspect the ruins of what used to be homes. "Whatever happened here, it happened a while ago. Albus, did you know about this?"

"I'm ashamed to admit I did not."

"Then whatever did this did it before the centaurs had time to get help," Tonks mused.

"Maybe so, or maybe they were too stubborn to go for help in the first place. Either way, not important. The real question is, the hell are the corpses?" Alastor asked, gesturing widely at the distinctly gore free clearing.

Kingsley furrowed his brow. "That's not good. How many Dark things can you do with corpses?"

"An innumerable amount. However, as these creatures are not dark wizards it may be more likely that they were simply hungry." Dumbledore said. A collective shudder based through the group. "Regardless, we must press on. There are almost certainly survivors, and if we find them, we can discover just what did this."

A chorus of nods arose from the small party. Dumbledore raised his wand and cast a divining spell, looking for centaurs. A trail of magic formed, leading into the trees. It was with a sense of tension in the air that the group of wizards passed through the woods in silence, trying their best to ignore the fading signs of the panicked exodus that had preceded them.

They arrived at a field of burnt corpses.

It was a scene of utter devastation, eclipsing even the site they had just came from. Dumbledore politely ignored the few members of his party who lost control of their stomachs, instead taking in the nightmarish landscape. The skeletons were scattered randomly, there was no rhyme or reason to it. Some of them still had their arms stretched out, reaching for the treeline or to another corpse. The grass had been burned; some patches had grown back, but the remainder was scarred and ashen. But by far the most striking feature of the clearing was the single moving centaur, digging a hole next to a row of upturned earth and stone markers. Upon hearing the humans, it raised its head, revealing sunken eyes all but devoid of life. Dumbledore raised his wand, fearing an Inferi, but then it spoke.

"Albus Dumbledore and...compatriots. Have you come to end me? If so, please make it quick," Firenze said in an empty tone.

**(Transition)**

A yellow streak of light pulverized the top of a sizeable rock and sent fragments flying, most of which landed in the creep and were absorbed. "And that's  _defodio_. Its ok, but we already have better ways to do this, so I'm not sure it will be very useful," Luna said. She stood several feet from the destroyed rock with her wand in hand and her tentacles on full display.

"Method, greater importance. Can be changed, modified. Greater or different effect. Possibilities substantial," Abathur corrected. He used two of his scythes to peel the creep off one of the fragments, and picked it up with his lower left hand. He had almost entirely restoried his true form, and was glad to have full use of all of his arms once more. "Shatter pattern shows unique force distribution. Does not match projectile. Unseen complexities. Must examine."

"Does it really matter how it exploded if the force is so weak?" Thenabar asked from his perch on a nearby web. In order to keep his balance, the shapeshifter had grown several elongated and unnatural limbs to anchor himself in place.

"Force can be increased. Pattern, more difficult to change," Abathur said, attention still focused on the rock in his hand. _"Defodio."_  A yellow light shot from another hand directly into the rock, further shattering it. "Hmm. Simple spell. Will experiment."

"Do you really think you'll get anything from a  _human_ creation?" Thenabar said, lips twisted in displeasure. "As someone forced to read their minds on a regular basis, I can assure you there's not much there."

"They try, at least," Luna added in a soft tone. "They just aren't very good at it."

"Yes, because that makes it so much better," Thenebar said with no small amount of exasperation. "Not only do they fail miserably, that's the result of them at their best!"

"Terrans, surprisingly adaptive. Rapid technological changes. Underestimation, not recommended. Must be-" One of the wards surrounding the Hive cluster triggered, alerting the three zerg. Their heads turned towards the disturbance simultaneously. Abathur immediately placed himself behind the eyes of the closest soldier to the disturbance, an overlord floating far above the trees, beyond the sight of anything on the ground. When he saw what it was, Abathur immediately began readying his forces. "Humans approaching Hive cluster. Must remove."

**(Transition)**

_Earlier..._

"Firenze...? What happened here?" Dumbledore asked in a soft tone.

The haggard centaur just shrugged. "The acromantulas attacked, we attacked back, they came back with dragons and did this. Does it really matter now?"

"Of course it does, my friend. Why ever would it not?"

Again, Firenze shrugged. "They're dead either way. All that we can do now is lay them to rest." He picked up his shovel and resumed his work.

"Didn't anyone else make it?" Dumbledore heard himself ask desperately, almost pleadingly.

"Oh, they did," Firenze started, without looking up from the grave. "But they wished to be with their families, and I could not deny them that."

"Did you...?" Tonks asked nervously.

"No. But you have not answered my question. Are you here to strike the final blow, humans?" Firenze said in an almost hopeful tone, once more looking up from his work, the first hint of vigor only then passing through the centaur's eyes. A heavy silence fell over the clearing. In the corner of his eye, Dumbledore could see Tonks hair going through an entire rainbow of colors.

"Albus, perhaps it's time to go," Kingsley whispered uneasily. "We have the information we came for."

"Go ahead, Kingsley. I will join you shortly."

Kingsley turned to face Dumbledore in shock. "Albus, you can't be serious!"

"Go, Kingsley," Dumbledore said to Kingsley, his expression gravely. "You do not need to witness this."

"But Albus," Kingsley was silenced by a look.

"Go." This time, no one argued. Wordlessly, they took out their wands to track the acromantula colony and headed into the Forest, out of sight from Dumbledore. "Do you require more time to finish your work, Firenze?"

"They won't care either way."

"Very well. May you find peace in the next adventure."

"Thank you."

**(Transition)**

_Now_

"On my way," Thenabar flowed out of his stance on the web and began flying over to the humans, taking on the form of a dark fluid. Luna dug her tentacles into the creep and launched herself forward, followed by a mass of zerglings, hydralisks, and weavers. Abathur moved his focus away from his body, towards the disturbance. The horde stopped just inside the ward that concealed the hive cluster. Abathur sent the weavers alone, the only strain that would still seem native to the area. Thenabar adopted their form, his legs stretching out in midair to cling onto the branches around him while his body condensed into a ball before the weaver's distinctive features emerged. It was remarkably quick. Could Abathur adapt them into a combat strain? Their sheer flexibility alone would be absolutely devastating.

Before the humans got too close, Thenabar and his escorts emerged from the trees, blocking their path. Abathur kept the Hive colonies within the weavers' abdomens contained, for now. No sense in playing a card before necessary. The humans, seeing the titanic arthropods, paused to draw their wands, but didn't attack just yet. Cautious. Irritating. If they had just attacked immediately, that would have made things so much simpler. If they weren't attacking, then Abathur would have to avoid it as well, if only to keep up appearances and prevent them from fleeing with the Swarm's location. And that meant discussions.

"Humans," Thenabar hissed out, stretching the word out, mincing it and playing with it. "You are not welcome here. Leave."

"What's the matter, eight-eyes? Not hungry?" said one of the humans, the one that possessed an excessive amount of scar tissue. Such sloppy regeneration.

"Such concern for our welfare. Much more than we would expect from a hairless monkey. Could it be that you want to fill our bellies yourselves?"

"If you try, I'll blast your head off," the human replied.

"We weren't going to eat  _you_. We prefer our meat a bit more...tender," Thenabar chittered, ordering the weavers around him to do the same. It took Abathur a moment to realize it was intended to approximate laughter. From the shivering of the humans, it was effective.

"There is no need to resort to violence. We are simply here to ask some questions," Dumbledore said. His presence was unfortunate. Not only was he the most familiar with both his and Thenabar's habits, he was among the most powerful psionics Abathur had encountered. Certainly nowhere near the Queen of Blades, but above where he could bring the average psionic with his own techniques. Driving him away without revealing the full assembled might of his brood was simply out of the question, and even then, there was no guarantee of his death. He would have to humor him. "Have you seen any new creatures in the forest?"

Abathur commanded Thenabar to stay vague. "Prey comes and leaves frequently. Do not waste our time with vagaries," Thenabar hissed impatiently.

"My apologies. We pursue a number of insect-like creatures that recently felled a giant. They may have a being among them known as Abathur."

 _"What? How do they know about us?!"_ Luna all but screamed over the hivemind.

 _"Sent brood to hunt essence. Were spotted by humans. Did not eliminate, unwanted attention,"_ Abathur stated  _"Clearly ineffective. Unsure how terrans connected to Swarm."_

_"That...may have been my fault, Evolution Master. Dumbledore peered into my mind and got a glimpse of the greater hivemind. Nothing coherent, little more than flashes of Char and a few other planets, but...enough, apparently. I will take whatever punishment you deem necessary."_

_"Hmm. None required. Independent series of events, impossible to predict result. Already occurred, must compensate now. Distract terran, will prepare evacuation."_ Abathur removed one of the drones from its post harvesting biomass and ordered it to morph into a Nydus network. He rededicated several of the hydralisks and sent them on a patrol to remove the creep tumors. No traces could be left.

"We know nothing of your little pest problem," Thenabar responded.

"Odd," the gristled one said, one of his eyes spinning wildly in a way that defied Abathur's understanding of human anatomy. "If you don't know anything, then what's with all the spiky insects hiding behind your wards?"

For a moment, the zerg were stunned. Then, Abathur decided a change of tactics was in order  _"Eliminate terrans."_

Thenabar forced the acromantulas' hair to bristle.  _"With pleasure."_ With a screeching cry, the zerg forces rushed out of the cover of the wards, a palpable wave of claws and fangs. The weavers spat out webbing and used their mandibles to form them into intricate weavings, which sent out pale grey blasts of energy, which were blocked by a series of shields from the humans. When the webs' energy were expended, the weavers tossed them at the humans and began to weave new ones. While the weavers distracted the humans, Abathur planted a series of mines around the intruders, trapping them, leaving them sitting ducks for the oncoming rush. Whether they tried to run or tried to fight, they would die here.

"The castle wards don't extend this far! Apparate back to headquarters," Dumbledore said. Oh, yes, they could do that. He really did have to develop more anti-wizard weaponry. The wizards cast out spells, reducing the oncoming zerg wave to corpses. Dumbledore himself cast a more powerful explosive spell, aiming for the weavers above. The spell wiped out the entire contingent, including Thenabar. Before he had time to react, the shape-shifter was scattered across the clearing, leaving enough time for the wizards to warp away with a unified pop. Off to warn their allies no doubt. This was Abathur's worst case scenario, a nightmare of epic proportions. Still, he couldn't think of a better time to test his new strains.

The second the wizard vanished, Luna and Abathur dug themselves out of the creep. Luna immediately rushed into the burnt forest, while Abathur stayed behind to examine the remains of the zerg destroyed by the psionic blast. The pattern had been decidedly distinct from either the other spell he had been examining, as well as the terran spells of the future.

"Abathur, I can't find Thenabar!"

"Unsurprising. Was vaporized vaporized in fight," Abathur responded. He scraped a few extra samples off the ground.

"Wha..? But...why are you so calm about this?"

" _Because my eldest one knows that none of my children shall truly die while I survive."_ An overwhelming presence cast itself over the tiny hive cluster.  _"When their flesh should fail, I shall always forge it anew. Such is the power of the Overmind."_

"Statement correct. Will grow new body in hours. Event, Minor delay. Was not aware it merited attention of Overmind."

" _Your situation is the most precarious out of all my agents', Evolution Master. I am always aware."_

"So..so Thenabar's going to be fine?" Luna said, wiping tears from her eyes. Odd, Abathur could have sworn he removed her tear ducts. Perhaps he forgot to prevent their regeneration? That was entirely possible, given how abruptly her infestation had ended.

" _Indeed, my dear daughter. But a more important matter has arisen. Abathur, your position has been compromised, your veil torn asunder. The terrans are aware of you once more. Steps must be taken to fortify your position."_

"Statement, accurate. Nydus network growth begun, will grow additional hive clusters. Eliminate all human populations."

" _A magnificent idea. It would be most efficient to begin with the bastion closest to you. Even from here, I can sense the power of its defenses. Should it fall, the terrans of this world shall have nowhere to run to."_

"Wait!" Luna called out, drawing the attention of the two conversing zerg."There are a ton of wizards in the castle! It would be a waste to just kill them," she protested.

"More reason to eliminate. Powerful weapons against Swarm. Do not possess means to infest all. If attempted, would leave hive cluster vulnerable," Abathur reasoned. "Better to exterminate."

"What if, you didn't have to do that?" Luna said.

" _Explain, my daughter,"_ the Overmind urged.

"Dumbledore, generally," she hesitated. "He generally doesn't like to involve any other wizards with stuff he knows. He usually keeps it secret as long as he can. If he hasn't told anyone, we don't have to attack," Luna explained, in a slightly higher pitch than typical.

"Hmm. Possible. No confirmation. Caution, superior approach. Will continue current plan."

"I could get confirmation," Luna implored.

" _Should you be capable of that task, we shall reconsider. But for now, Abathur's plan shall continue,"_ the Overmind ruled.

"But..." Luna began, but was silenced by a glance from Abathur. "Fiiiine."

**(Chapter End)**

_Because our glorious Author won't put one in_

_Humans: We're violent, we're tiny, and we're irritating. Kind of like insects. But the thing about insects is that they're damn near impossible to get rid of._

**Humans: Of the three races occupying the Koprulu, terrans (or humans as they were previously known) are at first glance the most underwhelming. They do not possess the impressive technology or powerful psionic prowess of the protoss, nor do they possess the biological adeptness, the single minded determination, or the absurd numbers of the zerg. Indeed, they lie in an odd middle ground, without the extreme specialization that defines their two adversaries. That does not mean they are to be underestimated. The terrans have taken this middle ground and turned it into a weapon all its own. Rather than adhering to to a single strategy, terran tactics can turn on a dime, whether that means churning out dozens of expendable infantry units or suddenly manufacturing massive mechs and titanic armed spacecraft. The terrans make up for their lack of specialization with their flexibility, a design philosophy reflected by units that possess multiple forms for different situations, or bases that can simply fly away and set up elsewhere. Additionally, terrans possess the only weapons of mass destruction deployable on the battlefield, their nuclear missiles. A single missile can wipe out an army or mineral line in an instant, rendering it the single most powerful weapon between the three races aside from the protoss purifier beam. What humans lack in other departments, they make up for in sheer determination and imagination. As the only race not assisted in their progress by the xel'naga, they are used to fighting for every step they take. Despite initial appearances, they are well prepared to match any other race in the sector, and they have had ample opportunity to demonstrate their determination and merit.**


	45. End of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Explosions are perfectly alright if they are for scientific purposes. Or entertainment purposes. Or any purposes, really. Explosions are universal enough that there is practically no scenario in which they cannot be used to improve the overall situation. That is a scientifically proven law, the rule of cool. Catalyst, unfortunately, has not gone through this rigorous process, and is therefore not quite at that prestigious standard. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Transition. 10 letters forming one word that has all but dominated my life for close to a year and a half now. Which I certainly don't regret, but I kind of wished I'd picked a cooler word. Like poltergeist. Or irritable chicken. Ah well, maybe next story.)**
> 
> _Does...does this mean that you actually admit this joke is stupid, dead, and should stop? ~f_
> 
> **(Did you not read the last part?)**
> 
> _A man can dream. ~f_

The first sign that something had gone wrong with the DA meeting was the loud wails of a house elf. The second was the wall exploding, followed by the insufferable pink human walking in through the resulting hole, followed by her low grade cannon fodder. The third was Potter yelling for everyone to run. At that point, Luna didn't bother taking in the situation, she just ran. She wasn't the only one either; the whole mess of humans was running out of the door in the same direction as she was, lead by the three organizers of the club. They split and scattered as soon as they hit the maze of corridors that filled the seventh floor, hexes and jinxes flying as the DA members fought their way through Umbridge's cannon fodder. Luna herself decided to follow Potter along a relatively empty side route, since he seemed to be the only one who knew where he was going.

For about a minute, Luna ran behind Potter, who was holding some sort of parchment in front of him as he ran. Luna wasn't sure why he was so engrossed in it, but she had more immediate concerns. She could sense the minds of two hunters just around the next corner. She almost certainly could eliminate them, but Abathur had warned her that would cause...problems. She opened her mouth to warn Potter, but he spoke first.

"There are a couple of Umbridge's goon up ahead. If we take a right here, we can go around them."

Luna blinked in surprise. "Alright." Potter continued to accurately predict the positions of Umbridge's cannon fodder accurately, apparently consulting the parchment in some fashion. It became like a rhythm, a game that Luna could predict and play to. She would sense pursuers, and follow Potter as he 'guided' her away from them. That was probably why she was so shocked when Harry let out a loud curse.

"They trapped us," he said. "I'll go first, keep them distracted. You just run. They want me a lot more than you."

What? "You can't want to do that. You're..." Luna began

"What, the Boy-who-lived?" Harry snorted. "I'm only human. Look, I got you into this mess, and I'm getting you out of it." He tapped the parchment with a wand and muttered a phrase, then handed the blank sheet to Luna. "Take this to Ron and Hermione. They'll know what to do with it."

She took it wordlessly. This was bizarre, aberrant. This act of self-sacrifice was behavior that Luna would have expected from  _zerg,_ not humans. Not selfish, closed off, uncaring humans. This was anathema to her image of humanity, and yet, here he was prepared to sacrifice himself. But even as she stood there, frozen in shock, Potter ran off.

A few of the canon fodder came for her, but Luna managed to evade them by slipping off to the library, losing her pursuers between the shelves. But even as she casually ducked and dodged between the shelves she couldn't help but marvel at what had just happened. The way Potter had acted, had sacrificed his safety for her own...that was something she hadn't realized humans were capable of.

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore rarely drank alcohol. He had indulged in a bottle of Ogden's Finest on the day of his fateful duel with Gellert Grindelwald. The day Voldemort first revealed himself publicly he and several of his closest friends had toasted the memory of those lost to the madman. He had done the same to toast Voldemort's first downfall, and all the poor souls that had not survived to drink with him. And he was drinking now, in the aftermath of the disastrous attempt to deal with the Swarm.

It seemed that Fate had long since put in place cruel plans for Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Every time he ignored a hint, or overlooked a clue, it would come back to bite him and everything he cared about. Gellert took over half of Europe, Tom led a reign of terror that even his physical destruction had only slowed down, and now Abathur seemed poised to overrun the entire country with his creatures and their corruption.

The particular drink Dumbledore was nursing under the harsh light of noon was a fine batch of muggle whiskey, which would probably have an extremely fine taste if not for the taste of ashes that filled his mouth. He only wished he wasn't quite so familiar with it.

Below him, he heard the creaking of the gargoyles. Had he even remembered to change the password? Dumbledore honestly couldn't remember. Given the footsteps coming from the stairwell, he probably hadn't. Before long, the doors of his office opened, letting in Umbridge and several of her minions from among the study body, followed closely by...Harry? What were they doing here?

"Dolores. How may I help you?"

"Headmaster," Umbridge said cheerfully, a wide grin on her face. "I have a student here who I found who was severely breaching  _several_ ministry decrees."

"While interesting Dolores, I must admit I fail to see why you brought him to me," Dumbledore asked, calmly stowing away his bottle.

"You see," Umbridge began, saccharine grin stretching wider. "In their room, I also found  _this_." She brandished a sheet of paper towards Dumbledore, bearing a list of names. Searching through what Dumbledore assumed was the member's list. While it was heartening to see so many of his students banding together, he didn't see any name in particular that would cause this unpleasant women such joy. Then he looked at the top.

Titled above the list of names were the words 'Dumbledore's Army'.

Oh, that well meaning fool of a boy. This would be all the evidence Fudge needed to throw Harry into ministry cells and keep him there until either a trial was arranged or Voldemort revealed himself. Umbridge could haul her prize to the Ministry, show them the paper, and that would be it. If that was the case, why was she here?

Clearly, she was looking for a bigger catch. Perhaps an admission of guilt to cover for Harry, so she could take both at once, or at least him. Just a day earlier, her ploy might have worked. In ordinary circumstances, he would gladly have taken the fall, saved Harry, gone into hiding. But no, he couldn't do that now. Not with the creatures so close by. Not with Abathur lurking around his doorstep. Not with monsters prowling the school in the skin of children. Harry would just have to bear it for now.

"I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea how this list came to be," he said, handing the parchment back to Umbridge. Was that a hint of disappointment in her eyes?

"So you claim this boy was building an army in your name of his own volition?" Umbridge prodded.

"Surely, it was nothing so severe as that," Dumbledore attempted to mollify the would be usurper.

"In that case, I'm sure the Ministry will find the truth of the matter," Umbridge said, smiling cruelly as she dragged the boy towards the floo.

"I'm quite certain that's unnecessary, Dolores."

Umbridge smirked. "And why is that, Albus? Is there something you would like to say?

The rushing beasts. The titanic fleet, casting shadows over the stars. Volcanic worlds, covered in flesh. All of this rushed through Albus's mind as he looked at Umbridge's wide grin. "No, there is not." Umbridge tossed the green powder into the fireplace and walked through it, towing a scowling Harry behind. Merlin knew he would do anything he could to help the boy, but not here. Not now.

**(Transition)**

The burning coin in Luna's pocket startled her much more than it probably should have. It was probably because she was very deep into a good book on apparition and the defenses witches and wizards used against it. The other zerg sitting behind her eyes were just as startled, which didn't help. But what was more shocking was the fact that she was getting a signal for a DA meeting  _now,_ despite the raid earlier that same night.

Luna plucked the coin out of her pocket and glanced at the time. She had barely fifteen minutes to get to whatever this was, if she decided to go. Prudence demanded she stay put and keep reading, but...something demanded she go and see what there was. Harry had felt it important enough to sacrifice himself over in order to protect it, to protect her. But it was a  _really_ good book. Then again, it's not like the book was going anywhere, and she had gotten past the interesting part anyway. She took a deep breath, set down the book, and headed towards the listed location.

When she arrived, it was to the sight of a surprising amount of humans, clustered around Granger and Weasley, who were glancing around the gathering nervously. Luna settled into a corner of the meeting room, far away from the central crowd of humans. She ignored the occasional fearful glance from some of the other Ravenclaws in favor of watching the door, waiting for the final member of the club leadership to enter. He didn't.

Eventually, Granger cleared her throat. "Some of you may have heard," she began. "That Harry was taken by Umbridge to the Ministry." A chorus of whispers and gasps rang out from the crowd. Luna admired their ability to react to the obvious. It was very convincing. "So we're going to have to break him out." The whispers cut out.

"I understand that this is not something everyone here is prepared to do." Granger continued. "If anyone isn't feeling up to this, the door is right there." A number of people glanced to it. Some even gazed longingly at it, but Granger quickly continued. "But if you walk out, you lose this chance. What we have now is an opportunity. An opportunity to-!"

Luna tuned out after that point. There was something much more interesting going on, a wave sweeping over the crowd. Not a visible one, but a wave of clenched jaws, straightened backs and alert eyes. Granted most were still angled towards the door, but more than that, there was a pressure, a build up that Luna felt would explode at any moment. An invisible gas of excitement, exhilaration, slowly built up by words and phrases. It just built and built, pushing and pushing.

"I'll go." Ginny Weasley said, moving to stand with her brother and Granger.

"Me too," said Longbottom. And with those two words, the pressure burst. The wave rushed over her, a wave of raw emotion Luna didn't think she would experience outside of the Swarm. It called to her to take action, to stand up and fight. It was utterly and uniquely  _human._

"So will I."

The next voice and last voice to call out was Luna's, much to her surprise. She was so surprised by her emotional reaction that she didn't even notice the rest of the humans leaving the room, muttering excuses as they went.

And then there were only five left in the room.

"So, what's the plan, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"Well, we need to get information. Does anyone know if Umbridge is in the castle?" Hermione asked, to an audience of blank stares. "And Harry had the Map too." She shook her head.

"Do you mean this?" Luna said, pulling out the parchment Harry gave her.

"Oh! You have it! Perfect," Luna suppressed her internal disgust at the p-word as Hermione touched her wand to the map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." She stared intently at it, furrowing her brow. "She's back in her office. Why is she..? No, it doesn't matter. That just means we need to keep her out of the way."

Luna hesitated. "I  _think_ I can arrange that."

"Alright. Then the next thing we'll need is..." Hermione's words once more faded into the back of Luna's mind. Meanwhile, in the back of Luna's mind, she reached out to another's thoughts, entwining them with her own.  _"Thenabar? Are you there?"_

" _Of course, my Queen. What do you require?"_ came the response.

" _Abathur said that we should find out what the Ministry knows about us. I think I've found an opportunity to investigate."_

" _Oh?"_

" _Well, there's going to be a big distraction in the Ministry soon. If you take Umbridge now, nobody will notice."_

Thenabar's prying mind probed into Luna's memories, getting the details. A loud psychic laugh rang around inside her skull, and she could practically imagine the wide grin on his face.  _"These humans won't break in unnoticed."_

" _Of course not."_

" _Well then, seems simple enough. The only issue is how I'm going to get her out."_

" _ **I will provide your escape, my child."**_

An overwhelming presence descended on the private conversation. Luna shivered. Even after so long, the awesome scale of the Overmind never failed to impress upon her just how small she was.

"You alright, Luna?" Ron asked, glancing in her direction.

"I...yes, just a bit chilly," Luna answered distractedly. In her head, the Overmind continued.

" _ **Your mission is of vital importance to our plans on this world, which are of equal value to the Swarm. My power shall open a path beyond space. You will leave all but unnoticed."**_

" _It will be an honor, Overmind,"_ Thenabar said reverently.

"So, plans are all set then. Is everyone ready?" The humans let out a chorus of confirmations, and Luna made sure to join in.

" _Well then,"_ Thenabar said.  _"Let the games begin."_

**(Transition)**

The attention of the Overmind was never something to be squandered. Even at just over two years old, Thenabar was well aware of the value of its direct focus. That, much more than anything else, made it clear just how important his task was.

Of course, that didn't mean he was immune to the excitement of all of it. Finally, he was actually doing something! In his state of elation, he was even letting bits of himself go wild, erroneous and decidedly inhuman extensions coming out of his skin. It was careless of him, he knew, but what did it matter? It wasn't as if he had to keep the charade going much longer. No, this had to be the last job, when he could finally burn bridges. The signal that the time to play nice with humans, to mimic their silly rituals and copy their hideous features was finally over. He was barely aware of the multi-toned laughter echoing around the corridor, overcome with happiness as he was.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a door, so saturated with pink that it would have hurt Thenabar's eyes if he hadn't shifted them out of the human spectrum. He lifted a finger to the keyhole and let his flesh weave itself into the mechanisms, shifting them out of the way. Then he slammed the door open. The woman behind it, a bloated disgusting specimen, even by the standards of humanity, look upon Thenabar's warped form with clear fear. Oh, he could still feed off of that. How... _interesting_.

As the Overmind prepared his exit, Thenabar closed in on his prey, ignorant of the veritable flood of panicked photos rushing towards the headmaster's office.

**(Transition)**

When Dumbledore finally reached the DADA classroom, it was to a scene straight out of a muggle horror movie. A twisted mocking caricature of a human form was standing over the slumping, unconscious form of Dolores Umbridge. Its face was deformed, one side longer than the other, while the smile on its face looked removed, out of place, like it had simply been pasted on. In the corner laid the shifting light of a swirling purple circle, to which the aberration was dragging Umbridge too. Or it had been, before it had heard Dumbledore. It turned to look at him. And laugh.

"Hello  _there._ So nice to see you Dumbledore. I'd love to chat, but I'm a bit  _busy_ right now. Come back later"

Dumbledore had the Elder wand in his hand before the monster who spoke with the voice of a student. "What are you doing with her, Abathur?" The monster froze, face twisted into a vague approximation of confusion. Then it grinned.

"Oh, you still think I'm  _him._ How...cute." Dumbledore's blood chilled. "No, Abathur is long gone from here. It's just me now."

"You…" Dumbledore could hardly put to words the horror he was feeling, "What did he  _do_ to you, Thenabar?"

This made the monster laugh again, before a second mouth appeared on it's face. The first continued the distorted laughter while the second began to speak, "And you still think that-? This is just precious. You  _actually_  think that there was once a child called Thenabar, that I'm some...alteration of his flesh. You really don't get it do you?" With those words, the creature's pasted on grin grew savage. "Thenabar never existed in the first place. From the beginning to the end, it was just him, until he  _made_ me."

Dumbledore's mind raced. There was never a Thenabar? But that could only mean… "You mean the ritual...it didn't just summon Abathur, it placed him in your body, as well."

"Wrong, wrong, oh so, so wrong. I'm not Thenabar, human. Just an actor. This body? Barely two years old. I have to say though, you did provide me a lovely birthday present. The removal of the incompetent was something we were both  _quite_ happy about."

The incompetent? "If you mean Severus Snape, he was far from an incompetent potioneer, and he was a far better spy than you will ever be. The ability to change your shape does not make you an effective infiltrator, 'Thenabar'."

"It worked well enough on you, didn't I?"

Dumbledore grimaced. "If you think you are getting out of here alive, you are sorely mistaken. I bested you once before, and I doubt it will be difficult to do so again." Unless, of course, the unfortunate Lovegood girl came to his aid. At that thought, Dumbledore sent a patronus to Minerva, telling her to collect Professor Flitwick and come to the Defense classroom at once.

"I'm barely two years old, Dumbledore. Would you  _really_ kill a child?" it asked mockingly.

"Would you kill the woman on the floor?" Dumbledore asked pointedly.

"No, of course not. Abathur has grander designs for her." At that, Thenabar tossed Umbridge through the portal. "But you didn't answer my question, did you?" The creature shifted, melting into a different form, the form of a young girl. A girl who Dumbledore recognized all too well. "Is that because you  _have_ killed a child before?"

"Adrianna…" Dumbledore breathed. Then his eyes hardened. "If you think you can use my sister against me, Thenabar, you are sadly mistaken." With a subtle flick of his wrist, a sheen of magic passed over the classroom, sealing it off from the outside world. With another flick of his wand, Dumbledore banished the unearthly portal in the corner of the room. Minerva and Filus would be able to get into the classroom, if he needed help, but he didn't want this creature escaping.

For the first time since he had entered the room, the creature showed a hint of irritation. "Well, you really do all my fun don't you," it said. "That was almost impressive, really. I certainly didn't expect you to overpower the Overmind, even from this distance. But, all you've cost me is a couple of hours." It raised its claw, and with a single swift motion, stabbed itself through the chest. It had time to give Dumbledore one last, mocking grin before it fell to the floor, dead as the stone it lay on.

**(Transition)**

Umbridge awoke to the pain of her arm being cut open, tendons and muscles exposed to the open air. The next thing she heard was the sound of her own scream, and her thrashing limbs hitting the soft gelatin she seemed to be laying on. After that, she heard a deep, resonating voice coming somewhere above her.

"Cease movement. Unproductive." the voice passed right by her ears, entering directly into her mind. At that, Umbridge panicked. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know what was going on. She just needed to get away. Umbridge scrambled to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her arm, and ran, dripping blood behind her. She cradled her limp arm as her bare feet pounded into the ground. Where were her shoes? Nevermind, it didn't matter. She just had to get back to the Ministry, to safety.

In the corner of her mind, she was dimly aware of the pack of horrors chasing her, practically gliding over the purple carpet. She was too terrified to care. It was just another detail of the nightmare, this horrific dream that simply couldn't be real. The jaws snapping at her heels, the hideous shrieks of the beasts flying above her head, the needle sharp spines shattering every tree she tried to hide behind, none of it could exist, it couldn't,  _it couldn't._

Eventually, Umbridge managed to lose the majority of her pursuers, hiding behind a small copse of trees. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes in concentration, she thought of the Ministry (destination), of her intense desire to leave this hellscape (determination), and then she  _deliberately_  turned on her heel...and lost her balance, nearly falling over.

She opened her eyes just in time to see her sparse cover obliterated by a wave of acid. She was surrounded by giant beetles, still in the same peril. She couldn't run, she couldn't hide. Umbridge was going to die, right here, right now.

A round creature, nearly the size of a small house, adorned with shriveled limbs and what appeared to be gigantic, bulbous, purple eyes descended from the sky. Like a maggot emerging from rotten flesh, a creature slithered out of it, the same being that had torn into Umbridge's still limp arm. It stood tall, with two sets of scythes jetting out from it's back. It's head was adorned with sacks of writhing flesh.

"Experiment, successful. Human subject, unable to escape. Must test against Protoss." it said casually, only half paying attention to Umbridge.

"I..I don't know what you are or what you think you're doing, but you won't get away with this!" Umbridge shouted. "I am the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts and I-"

"Unaware? Convenient. Removes need for interrogation. Efficient," the creature gestured towards Umbridge, causing her to be pulled towards the creature. Before she had time to react, each limb had been impaled by one of the scythes, leaving her spread eagled and unable to move. Umbridge screamed. "Can proceed to examination."

It's hand shifted to her head, caressing it, poking and prodding at her skull. Umbridge couldn't tear her eyes away from it's dagger sharp fingers. "Large head, unnecessary for psionics, intelligence." The hand pushed it's fingers together, and moved towards her cheek, sharp end first, the carapace cold against her skin. "Will remove." The hand pushed through her cheek, and began to cut into her gum.

At some point, Umbridge passed out. Whether from pain or blood loss, she wasn't sure. It wasn't as if she would ever have the opportunity to find out.

_(this Transition brought to you by a mildly miffed editor)_

**Miffed is a word?**

_This is why I'm the editor, and you're the Starcraft nerd. ~f_

**Anyway onto ummm...uhhhh...fuck it, I'm doing bureaucracy.**

_Prepare your collective anuses, people, for a rant on how stupid paperwork is as well as some 'educated' guesses about how it all got started. ~f_

**Bureaucracy: Bureaucracy is the twisted machinations of a being older than any human in existence. It is a tangled mess of figurative red tape and unfortunately literal paperwork, a nightmarish maze into which everything enters and nothing can leave. It is a bloated monstrosity, feeding and growing off of the cast off remains of its own body. Bureaucracy is, simply put, miserable. Undoubtedly, bureaucracy began as a fairly simple process. A simple note or notice of something that another person needed, or a list of precisely what those items or actions were. Eventually, this process became simplified and standardized, with a pre-printed set of papers with simple questionnaires designed to simplify the process. Of course, these papers were very easy to obtain and even easier to use, and that, is where the trouble began. Soon after the initial rush of simplification and streamlining, the system likely began to experience abuse. Forms were filed in the names of others without their knowledge or consent, or forms were filed in a way as to give some advantage to the person who filled them out. And so, it became necessary to fill out forms to verify those forms and their contents. Of course, when those forms involved multiple groups, multiple forms had to be filled. But then, one group could stall the process indefinitely, simply by doing something as simple as claiming they had not received the paperwork. And so, forms to verify the delivery and notification of the forms began to become necessary. But of course, those forms were also liable to be lost or misplaced, or people unaware of these forms simply didn't fill them in. So, it became necessary to have forms for the forms for the forms, and the doomsday scenario suddenly became self sustaining. Soon, forms became necessary for even the simplest of tasks: walking across the room to receive forms, picking up the forms, even certificates and forms to show that a person had been born in the first place. And thus, bureaucracy came into its current incarnation: the nightmare of legendary proportions that every living being knows to dread and fear. For as much as they try to run from it, as much as they try to avoid it, bureaucracy will come into their lives, and they will have to fill every single line of it. Bureaucracy is an evil both more pervasive and more insidious than the Swarm could ever dream of being.**


	46. Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I tend to find that it's much easier to enjoy online media when you don't have to swallow the person's political opinion along with it, regardless of what side it leans to. As such, I tend to lean towards avoiding any political commentary in these sections. But recently, there's been such a momentous event, with such importance that I can't help but comment on it. Canada legalized weed. I don't actually have an opinion to discuss, I just wanted to point it out. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(Fucks sake. Nobody told me I'd have to write 46 separate jokes about transitions, about what is quite possibly the most egregiously BEST WORD IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE! If I'd known this is what writing fanfic was about, I'd have started years ago.)**
> 
> _The "most egregiously best word…" Now I know he's hit rock bottom. ~f_

Dumbledore motionlessly stared at the cooling corpse. Thenabar had just...killed himself. There had been hesitation, no regret, not even a hint of fear. This just wasn't human. It wasn't behavior he would expect out of any intelligent being, to throw away it's own life as if it meant nothing. He had talked with it, spent time with it, and now it was gone. Unless...

_'All you've cost me is a couple hours.'_

It claimed the day it killed Severus was the same day it had been born. Abathur couldn't have known he would have needed a proxy, how could he? That meant he had made the creature, nurtured it and grown it in hours. Its mind had been connected to others, Dumbledore could assume that much from the brief glimpse of it he had managed. In fact, there had barely been any distinction at all between them. It had been just as connected to beings on another world as he had been to his own flesh and blood. If his mind was so loosely connected to his body, then who was to say it couldn't be moved to another?

Thenabar wasn't dead. He would be up and about, wreaking havoc in a matter of hours. Dear Merlin, were all of them like this? Were they all immortal, able to cast off their flesh and grow it anew, rid of any scars or pestilence it accumulated? The concept was terrifyingly plausible.

"Albus, there's been an-" Minerva visibly recoiled at the sight of the alien corpse, hand still stuck in it's own chest. Her eyes locked onto its face, then back to his own. "What happened? What is this...thing?"

"Later, Minerva," Dumbledore said, moving to the doorway, blocking her view. "What happened?"

"The Ministry, Albus, it's under attack! You-Know-Who is there! He's trying to get into the Department of Mysteries!"

**(Transition)**

"Insanity inc., here to deliver the Minister's prescription," Luna said to the voice in the phone booth, to the nervous snickers of those around her. It was a pleasant thing to hear, like bubbles in her stomach. Well, bubbles that weren't caused by the various gases trapped in the acid. She didn't usually feel those. Granted, she usually didn't sneak into the Ministry under the cover of night with a bunch of humans all crammed into a single phone booth either. There was something remarkably exciting about it, a tingling rush washing over her. She wanted to keep it going as long as possible.

The elevator doors opened, revealing an empty hall dominated by a ridiculous stone statue. Without a word, the group began moving through the hall towards the row of elevators along one of the back walls. The thrilling sensation Luna had come to associate with humans working together had stretched taut, giving the impression it could snap at any moment. Luna wasn't sure what would happen if it did.

They piled into the elevator, pushing each other to the edges. The doors closed, trapping them inside. The metal frame pulled back into the wall, then began to descend, momentarily cutting off all light. After a number of minutes, the doors opened once more, revealing the sterile walls of the DMLE. There was a suspicious lack of personnel present, almost a total absence. This was what happened when you had to sleep for 8 hours a day. It was almost trivial to march through the department, straight to the holding cells. The doors barely even  _tried_ to resist exploding. Perhaps it was simple negligence. Then again, perhaps it was the two masked Death Eaters behind the demolished door, closing in on the comatose form of Harry, curled in a corner of his cell. Despite herself, Luna felt a tug of emotion at the sight, barely identifiable before it was quashed.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, pulling out his wand, and motioning for the rest of the students to follow him. The stretched feeling was temporarily replaced with excitement, a call to arms. Luna reached for her own weapon, followed by the other humans.

Almost immediately, the walls of the department began to glow with the light of spellfire. Luna was with Ginny, facing off against a much taller masked human. One moment, their wands lay still in their hands. The next, they whipped around like maddened branches, flinging spells. Luna decided to go with Defodio; Abathur was still curious about its properties.

The yellow beam arced out towards the enemy human, who dodged it. His wand turned towards Luna. He began to swing it around, beginning to say the first few syllables of a spell. He was interrupted by a purple beam from Ginny's wand. His stick fell out of his hands as his nostrils became host to a swarm of bats. Taking advantage, Luna let loose a quick stunner, bringing the Death Eater out of the fray. Ginny turned towards Luna and the two girls exchanged a grin, revelling in the moment, before they both turned to the next threat.

There had only been a few Death Eaters in the DMLE, obviously not expecting their reinforcements. With the element of surprise on their side, the DA cleared through them in a matter of minutes and managed to make their way towards Harry to let him out of his cell.

"What are you doing here?" Harry shouted in shock.

"We've come to get you, you bloody idiot," Ron replied. " _Alohomora._ " The lock clicked. Ron pulled the door open, letting Harry out.

"You shouldn't have come. This is my problem, not yours," Harry said.

"Your problem?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "Mate, Umbridge was after all of us. I'd say that's a pretty shared problem."

"I meant Voldemort! He's here, trying to get the weapon!"

"Oh," Ron said. He paused. "Well, same thing. We faced him first year, what's one more time?" The rest of the DA nodded with him.

"Honestly Harry, do you think we would just step aside and let Vol-Voldemort get his hands on whatever he wanted, just because you said you would do it alone?" Hermione said.

"You sacrifice yourself for me, I help you. It's squid pro quo!" Luna chimed in.

"It's  _quid_ pro quo, Luna," said Hermione.

"That's not what the aliens told me."

"I...fine. The point is Harry, we're with you," Hermione said. "Besides, we managed to face down Voldemort in first year. How hard could it be now?"

**(Transition)**

This was the hardest thing Luna had done in her life. From the instant they descended into the Department of Mysteries, she had been forced to fight for her life, evading spells and casting back her own almost constantly, all without the aid of the Swarm. It was the most fun she'd had in months. Without her enhancements, this would be terrifying. It still was, a bit. She had started peeking at the minds of everyone around her about halfway through and was picking up everyone else's stress. Of course, she also was picking up all of their attacks several seconds in advance, so it was still more than worth it.

Reinforcements for both sides had shown up recently, including a human she could only assume was Voldemort. His essence was almost painful to look out if only because of how bizarrely it was put together.

If it wasn't for the extrasensory mess of an archway in the center of the battlefield, she might even say she was enjoying herself. And to some degree, the other humans on her side were as well. There was excitement in the air, a feeling of invincibility even through the trepidation. Whatever came next they could handle it.

"Sirius!"

The world froze. The thrill of adrenaline drained away.

Luna could only watch Harry's face as the man was thrown through the archway, see the emotions tearing through him. In morbid curiosity, she stretched her consciousness out, reaching behind his eyes.

She found disbelief. Desperation. Pain.

**Anger.**

Rage, how dare she kill Sirius, how dare she take another thing from him. How dare she hurt Harry like that, how dare she hurt one of the few humans to let Luna into their brood, how dare she hurt one of these precious humans, precious psionics, precious being who was almost as much zerg as human. She would pay. Luna would make her pay. The Swarm would make her pay.

Almost without her consent, the feeble skin covering her scales rotted away, breaking down into motes of dust. Her many tentacles, hidden for so long, stretched out from her back, the spines on their tips stretching out like fingers, before snapping shut into a spike of a fist. Her hair fell out of her skull, replaced by long segmented carapace.

With a dual toned scream, Luna flung herself towards the laughing human. In magic combat, she might be in trouble. Luna might have zerg enhancements, but she had seen the witch throw out spells at a speed and strength greater than any other human she knew of. But Luna wasn't limited to just magical combat, not anymore. Before the witch could react, Luna's zerg limbs impaled her several times over. The human had just enough time to look at Luna's face before her heart tore itself to shreds, trying to beat with the sharp limb stuck through it. Luna had just enough time to snarl at her, before the human collapsed on the ground.

Luna extracted her tentacles.

"Luna, what..." Harry's voice came from beside her, faint and hesitant. The human was looking pale, shaken. She reached into his mind again. Shock, disbelief, and not a small amount of fear. She should have expected it. Abathur had warned her plenty of times. He wasn't part of the Swarm.

He could be. But he wasn't.

"Sorry, Harry. I can't tell you. Abathur probably wouldn't have wanted me to show you either, but you have very strong emotions. I couldn't quite control myself." Luna flicked the blood off her tentacles.

"What? What does Abathur...what are you?" Harry asked, rambled really. Luna could imagine his confusion. This was a much more abrupt introduction than she had gotten. Unfortunately, she probably wouldn't have the chance to elucidate. Her spike of emotion hadn't gone unnoticed.

 _"Luna. Exposed?"_ came the voice of Abathur.

 _"It was a life or death battle, and I_ might  _have gone a bit overboard."_ Luna replied. "Sorry. I told you, I can't explain."

_"Unfortunate, but acceptable. Retreat. Capture undesirable."_

"See you later," Luna ran. The sudden shift in battle had thrown the room into chaos. Nobody stopped her escape, some because of shock. Some tried to stop her, but failed. Abathur's improvements afforded her greater mobility than any human, magical or otherwise. But she began to notice, as she ran, that fewer and fewer Death Eaters tried to hamper her escape. It was odd, but she didn't have time to think about it. All that mattered was escape.

**(Transition)**

When all the dust had settled, Dumbledore found that, surprisingly, not everything had yet gone wrong. Voldemort hadn't learned the prophecy and now couldn't unless someone told him. The wizarding world was now irrevocably aware of Voldemort's return. Many of Voldemort's inner circle were dead or imprisoned, and with the unfortunate exception of Sirius, the Order had taken no losses. The Order dealt a great blow to Voldemort's cause.

On the Zerg front, however, Dumbledore had little choice but to count this as an utter failure. There were now one, possibly two agents of the bizarre creatures roaming around, capable of disguising themselves at will. He had never imagined how much the Lovegood girl had been altered physically, and likely mentally as well.

But if the zerg were willing to move this openly, then the situation was escalating far beyond his control. He needed help.

**(Transition)**

Deep beneath the soil, nydus worms tunneled through the rock and stone. Each contained nothing more than a few drones, but that was all they would need to seed the Zerg Swarm across the planet.

(Transition)

(Because  _someone_ refuses to put a transition after the end of the chapter)

**(I'll put one there when it's actually necessary)**

_Infestation: Have you ever lived in a house with a whole bunch of termites? It's basically just that._

_I mean, that's literally a termite infestation, so I guess that even counts as an 'infestation' just by definition._

_~f_

**Infestation: The Zerg Modus Operandi is quite simple: find new species, consume their essence, and evolve. The vast majority of species the Swarm encounters die in the process, devoured by the Swarm. However, occasionally the Swarm finds a species with traits that are especially useful. These species, rather than being absorbed into the existing strains, are delicately crafted into new, entirely unique creations. The zontar slug, for example, was noted by the Queen of Blades for its extreme ability to regenerate and it's potent acid. Within a matter of days, first roaches already rampaged across the planet. Whatever the Swarm infests, whether it be pungent moss or giant herbivores, the end result is guaranteed to be devastating.**


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: College applications are a bitch. They are also done. That is all. Also, don't own it.
> 
> **(It is with a heavy heart that I must announce the end of transition jokes for all time. They were traded away in exchange for feauxen not making another Overmind damned alt account ever again. You, dear reader, have never been exposed to the plethora of personalities by possessed by The Faceless One, but rest assured the trade was well worth it. Some of his more famous iterations included names such as "Harry Potter", "Hermione Granger", "Devil's Advocate", and "Morgan Fucking Freeman". And he made a new one every other week. This was definitely worth it. Don't worry, the actual (Transition)s will remain, it is only the jokes that are gone. Instead, I am proud to announce their replacement: Acronym jokes! Starting next chapter.)**
> 
> _Blah, blah, I'm a beta and I'm exasperated, this is exasperated beta commentary. I mean...I finally defeated the endless tide of stupid transition jokes! Hurrah! Yay...Oh, and just so you know, Strandshaper is one of my alts. I like arguing with myself, so I pretend to be my own beta. It's great. ~Sf_

Abathur had thought long and hard about his situation. He'd had little else to do for the past sixteen years. He had thought on every aspect of his crippled existence, from the need to pander to human sensibilities, to the necessity of hiding beneath the absurdly fragile pink skin that the terrans never seemed to improve on. He had thought about the isolation, his mental incarceration, trapped within his own head and unable to sink into the bliss of the Swarm's hivemind. Then there was the constant fear of discovery and extermination. Abathur wasn't afraid of death. But he had been afraid to die without ever even knowing what had come of his work, unsure that the Swarm had lived past him. And above all, he had thought of the terrans, the primitive, essence-starved terrans, the pathetic worthless beings that had dared to corner him and force him into their flesh, both in the future and in their current mewling state of being.

Abathur absolutely despised humanity.

He hadn't really realized what they'd deprived him of until he had reclaimed his place amongst the Swarm. He had almost forgotten the bliss he found within the organized chaos of the hivemind, had forgotten just how much he enjoyed being able to focus all of his time and energy on crafting his proud weapons of war. It was even sweeter now to make them. Not only had he been only just rediscovered the pleasure, but soon he would use his beautiful creations against his most despised enemy.

The essence of this world had been bountiful. It had to have been, for him to build any presence on it. The scant few hints he'd scavenged from the human subject's mind regarding the topic had indicated that there was so much more yet to collect. Nothing substantial, of course. That would be too simple. Abathur had learned that humans were always going to throw obstacles in his way, no matter how he approached them. But she had proved her worth in another. He had considered just discarding the mind and using the corpse when he had finally found a use for her.

"Ministry, not threat? Explain."

The newborn zerg clicked her new jaw, more closely resembling that of a hydralisk than the weak human one Abathur had cut off. It hadn't really been necessary in the first place.

" _The Ministry will be thrown into turmoil by the public reveal of You-Know-Who,"_ came the thought, accompanied by a wave of fear. Irritating. He clearly hadn't spent enough time altering her hormonal system. He had spent more of his time setting up the basic regeneration and reinforced bodily tissue.

" _Minister Fudge's and my efforts made it so that few people even suspect there was any reason to be worried, much less prepare for a war."_ It had been something of a rushed conversion, to avoid the tedious task of repairing the brain damage that humans tended to suffer from even brief deaths, but Abathur hadn't needed it to be perfect. Judging by her pitiable performance earlier, she wouldn't be seeing much combat anyway.  _"The Auror's will still be scrambling to raise their numbers and gather information. Even if they knew about you, they aren't nearly strong enough to fight a war on two fronts, especially against us."_ A wave of excitement this time. Clearly still acclimatizing to the hive mind. Irrelevant in the end, but irritating in the moment. If the information she provided wasn't so interesting, Abathur would probably have his claws still buried in her skull.

"Hmm. Useful. But, Dumbledore?"

" _That is...more complicated, my lord."_ And still no understanding of the hierarchy. This would be a long project.  _"We may have reduced his influence on this isle, but internationally, he is still a powerful figure. If I were him, I would seek aid from the other Ministries."_

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore strode confidently through the Parisian Ministry's glass halls, making his way towards the meeting place of the ICW, the stone rim of his shrunken pensieve digging into his leg. He could feel the shifting liquid weight of the memories within all too well. The large crowd of press and spectators pressed close to the ancient stone building parted before him. The position of Supreme Mugwump wasn't something Dumbledore could say he was particularly fond of, but he did have to admit it had its advantages. He would need every advantage he could get.

The crowd around him was jovial, blissful in their ignorance. Dumbledore supposed that they might be fine. Tom had never shown much interest in anything outside of the UK, and for all he knew the Swarm might not be interested in expansion at all. No, he was deluding himself. The Swarm had covered worlds. A bit of water wouldn't hold them back.

Albus stepped around a particularly dense group of Ministry employees. The crowds really were bad today. Was there some event going on? He hadn't heard anything, but then again, he didn't keep track of everything that happened in France. There certainly was a lot of shouting. Just within his line of sight, he could see a large man practically bulldozing his way through the crowd, apparently on his way straight towards...Dumbledore.

The tall man, wrapped entirely in bandages, was shoving his way directly towards the Chief Warlock. Dumbledore wracked his mind, trying to identify him before he arrived. It wasn't until he caught sight of a glaring yellow eye beneath the wrappings that he realized who was approaching him. Still walking towards him, the man barked out a question.

"What did you  _do,_ Dumbledore?" he growled, still pushing forwards.

"Is there something I can help you with, Adeviar?"

"You can tell me what you did. Right now." Dumbledore could see Adeviar tensing his hands, contorting them into a gnarled, half formed fist. Were those claws on his fingertips?

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," Dumbledore said. In a flash, he found himself dangling in the air, suspended by his robe in the definitely clawed grip of Adeviar.

" _DON"T LIE TO ME!"_ The crowd reacted instantly, flowing away like a puddle invaded by a fallen rock. "You had it, that creature. He was causing the whispers, and you made them  _spread._ They're  _everywhere._ "

Dumbledore's eyes widened. This couldn't mean...could they have already spread? No, of course they could have. He knew barely anything about the Swarm and Abathur had been on his own for over a year. Anything was possible. "Adeviar, the boy you met with wasn't Abathur."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me that was  _Thenabar._ "

"In the sense that it called itself that, yes. But I'm not so foolish as to think it was that innocent boy, if he ever existed in the first place."

"What do you mean?" Adeviar asked slowly, his grip loosening.

"That creature was a proxy. Abathur escaped long before I reached him. The creature called Thenabar was sent back only as a distraction."

"I've long since lost track of exactly what Abathur is doing."

Adeviar's grip released entirely, causing Dumbledore to fall to the ground. "Do you...do you have any idea what it's..?"

"I know some of what they've done. So far, his agents have kidnapped one of my teachers, infected a student, wiped out the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest and grew a nest there by infecting the local acromantulas, but to what end, I can only guess at."

"There's...more? There can't be more, there can't, there was only one, we only summoned one, but...how did you let this happen?!" Adeviar turned towards Dumbledore, confusion swept away by rage.

"If I were able to go back and prevent this from happening, I would do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, regrets alone are not enough to break fundamental rules of nature," Dumbledore said mournfully. "Adeviar, come with me. I'm going to speak to the ICW, to convince them to aid us against this threat. You could help me, help eradicate this menace on all of our lives."

"I...what would I have to do?"

**(Transition)**

"Humans not in single organisation. In separate broods. No greater authority. Broods...compete."

" _That is essentially correct my-"_ Abathur glared.  _"-Evolution Master."_

"Humans possess psionics. Have weaponized."

" _That is also correct."_

"Humans not extinct."

" _...Yes."_

The more Abathur learned about humans, the more he was glad that he wouldn't have to deal with them for much longer.

"Dumbledore recruiting other broods. Forming greater force. Will attack Swarm." Abathur glanced at the sky above, swarming with overlords and mutalisks. "Humans, do not possess space weaponry?"

" _Of course not! That's just impossib-,"_ The being known as Umbridge collapsed, forced into a rigid stance by Abathur's psionics. Its ignorance of the Swarm's own knowledge was just utterly unacceptable. He could resume interrogations once it was  _properly_ infested, with proper access to the greater hivemind. While he was at it, he might as well experiment with just how much he could modify human brains while preserving the psionics. Most of them didn't really  _need_ those personalities, did they? No, they were useful for the commanders to a degree, but Abathur would have enough specimens soon enough that he didn't need to specialize all of them. Much better to have an easily reproducible mindless force, more like the mundane infested terrans.

Speaking of the mundane humans, was there really any more use for them? No, almost certainly not. They were too much of a threat, a needle in the zerg side. They wouldn't be allowed to threaten the Swarm again. Fixing that should be a simple enough matter, this wasn't the first time a brood had needed to wipe out a particularly pestilent species. They had outlived their usefulness as stressors of his strains.

Abathur took pleasure in all his work. But he would take particular pleasure devising a way to render humanity extinct.

**(Transition)**

"My brethren in magic from around the globe, I have gathered you here today to ask for aid against the greatest threat our planet may ever know." Dumbledore stood in the center of a ring of seats, Adeviar waiting patiently behind him. Before him was assembled the collected ambassador's of an entire planet's worth of wizards, representatives of millennias worth of culture, history, and knowledge. His voice rang out across the meeting hall, deep and sonorous. It would probably have had a much greater effect if not for the chorus of groans that followed it. Dumbledore had expected this.

"Chief Warlock, with all due respect, you have come to us about your Dark Lord before. We have told you, we will not interfere with a nation's sovereignty over what by all accounts appears to be a purely domestic threat," the voice of the German delegate came from his seat. Murmurs of assent rippled across the chamber. Dumbledore took out his pensieve and placed it on the dais in front of him. "Unless something has changed with this 'Lord Voldemort', I don't see any reason that our decision will be different." Dumbledore's wand tapped the end of the pensieve.

A thousand zerglings, rampaging towards each of the delegates, covering the room with horns and claws. The ceiling above was covered with flying swarms, lights blotted out under the cover of rapidly moving wings. The delegates screamed, scrambling back in their seats. Adeviar, standing behind him, threw himself back onto the ground, crying out. The poor man. Dumbledore should have warned him, he should have known this would have an affect. Alas, it was too late now. With another tap of his wand, the memories vanished back into the stone bowl, filling it with glowing silver liquid.

"A decade and a half ago, our war against Voldemort had reached a point of near total despair. Every day, it seemed more and more of our cherished institutions were falling before his onslaught. It was seen as nothing more than a matter of time until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would claim total victory. In their desperation, some of the bravest witches and wizards I've heard of resorted to what they viewed as their last hope: a long lost summoning ritual, a ritual with immense power, so long as the right parameters were set for it," Dumbledore had researched the ritual in his own time. The sheer complexity had astonished him; it was capable of summoning just about anything, the only restrictions decided upon by the participants themselves, so long as they weren't afraid of the numerous risks.

"They succeeded, although it did not seem so at the time. Their bodies and minds were torn asunder by foul magics, and many of them died in the aftermath. The man standing behind me is one of only two participants still living today, and he still bears the scars of that night." Dumbledore saw necks craning, peering eyes looking at the glowing eyes and omnipresent bandages. "The creature they summoned seem to have experienced the same fate. To our great misfortune it did not. The creature had taken up residence in the flesh of a human wizard, living in the Muggle world before attending Hogwarts. I discovered the creature there, and attempted to restrain it. Through a long series of events, it escaped, killing a member of my staff and leaving behind a decoy to distract us, a creature I now believe to be a modified boggart it consumed earlier that year." Murmurs rushed up and down the crowd, evidently disturbed by the implications. "It was in this decoy's mind that I saw these creatures."

"Many-ones..." Adeviar muttered, almost unconsciously. "Zerglings. Hunters. Pursuers. Cannon fodder."

Dumbledore looked back towards Adeviar. "...Indeed. These, zerglings, as they are called, are not mere mental constructs. I have seen and fought against them myself, as well as other creatures seen in these memories." Dumbledore readied the Elder Wand, bringing it closer to the pensieve. "As such, I have reason to believe all the visions I saw in the decoy's head are not fantasy, but flesh and blood creatures." Wood touched stone. The visions returned, this time settling on mutalisks flying high above a moving swarm, running across a lava riddled world, covered with a purple tissue. Dumbledore could see the captivated looks in the delegates eyes, tinted with fear. He switched the memory to the most disturbing part. The mutalisks, however large they were compared to a man, looked like nothing but gnats compared to the three leviathans flying through the starry void. He took no delight in the looks of abject terror. He couldn't pretend he wasn't feeling any of it himself.

Adeviar was clutching his head, kneeling, eyes rampaging in their sockets. "Leviathans. Brood-bearers. Winged-ones, mutalisks. Hunters, harassers." Desperation in his eyes, Adeviar looked at his hands. "What did he do to me?  _What did he do to me?_ "

"I have not come for aid against Voldemort, or some other domestic threat. I have come to ask for aid against a race that threatens us all. Thank you." His speech concluded, Dumbledore removed the memories and scrambled off the platform. There was no applause, just silence. That. at least, meant they had listened. Dumbledore laid his hand on Adeviar's shoulder, ignoring just how rough it felt.

"Adeviar," Dumbledore said. Adeviar looked at him. "Don't worry. Everything will be alright. We'll silence the whispers. Whatever they are doing, whatever plots they're hatching, no matter what they do, we will stop them."

**(Transition)**

Luna picked up a caterpillar, examining the shining little strands of its essence. It spun and shone in place, different parts lighting up and exciting each other in response to her touch. A little pulse here revealed the adrenaline releasing, coursing through whatever passed for veins in the cute little critter, another pulse there as the muscles contracted and stretched, causing the insect to wriggle around in her palm.

Luna flicked some soil onto a nearby leaf, watching the essence pulse as it adapted to the momentary lack of light and air, a crackling spike of activity in the otherwise steady thread. Plants were always so fascinating to look at. They had their branches and roots spread absolutely everywhere, and each section was always just a tiny bit different. It was like looking at a sculpted bonfire.

This had to be the absolute best part about being Zerg, even more than submerging in the massive entity that was the hivemind. Getting to see the glorious artworks of essence was like seeing a new color every other minute. She flicked some more dirt at the tree.

"You have interesting habits, Ms. Lovegood."

Luna whirled around. Standing casually between the trees stood a dark cloaked figure, loosely holding a bone white wand. He observed Luna through bright red eyes, unmoving but for his lips.

"I don't intend to sound judgemental. I know the arts you and I dabble in often leave us exposed to much more than the ordinary wizard would be able to witness. Tell me, just what mysteries are open to your gaze?"

Luna couldn't speak. His essence would have made Luna vomit if she could anymore. It was an ugly, fragmented thing, a collection of shriveled coils spiralling lazily around a roughly broken shard of glass. It's tendrils spread itself out, grasping at everything nearby as if wanting to drag them in and consume them whole.

"Of course, how rude of me to forget to introduce myself. My name is L-"

Luna threw a tree at him.

With the sound of cracking roots and crashing dirt, the massive wooden pillar was forced out of the ground, before being pointed and launched towards the twisted human. With an idle flick of his wand, the tree was reduced to sawdust, harmlessly floating past the wizard.

"Come now, there is no call for that. I just want to have a chat." Luna didn't respond. Instead, she uprooted yet more trees, using her psionics to arrange the impromptu spears in a dome around the wizard. With a yell, she launched the trees straight towards his heart. An explosion of sawdust covered the area, before being blown away by a sudden gust of wind. "I thought I had already made clear just how futile that is. I did not go to all this trouble simply to wade through dust. I'm interested in speaking with you, Ms. Lovegood. You can do this of your own will, or not. At this point, I find myself caring less and less which it is."

"What do you want to talk about?" Luna's voice came out from behind the now severely reduced treeline. Luna herself was mostly burrowed beneath the ground, only her head above the ground. She was ready to duck lower at a moment's notice. This was a man who terrorized a country of psionics for years; she couldn't be too cautious.

"No, no, this won't do. Common courtesy demands you look each other in the eyes when having a discussion." A wave of force rippled out from the bone white wand, bisecting every tree in a substantial radius and passing directly over Luna's head. With the crash of falling wood, the trunks collapsed one by one, leaving a massive clearing in their place. The glaring red eyes locked onto Luna's exposed head. "There you are. What did you hope to gain from this little game of hide and seek?"

"A lot of open space."

The ground shook. Four mounds of dirt rose in unison, before breaking open to reveal four titanic worms, held in place by large spikes growing from their sides. Along the edges of the hole, corrupting tendrils of creep raced their way across the ground, growing over the fallen trees and severed stumps. The mouths of the nydus worms opened wide. From their maws spewed hundreds of zerg infantry; roaches, hydralisks, and zerglings, all circling and facing the enemy. He laughed.

"Magnificent!" he cried. "It's no wonder you were able to deal with Bellatrix so easily." The ranged strains opened fire, acid and spines arcing forwards at forces that could break through steel. The wizard threw up a shield, which shattered almost immediately under the first volley, barely deflecting the projectiles away from his body. The next wave, he was more prepared for. With a wave of his wand, he pulled the acid closer towards him, placing it in front of the spines. The acid congealed into a thick gel, trapping the spines within.

The zerglings rushed forward, pushing down with their wings and legs and launching themselves over the makeshift barrier and towards the enemy. "You are tenacious, Lovegood. But you must learn sooner or later, that clever tricks only work until you meet someone with the power to simply brush them aside."

Flaming serpents burst from his wand, incinerating the zerglings on contact. They spread out across the clearing, tearing burning swathes across the zerg, forcing the less durable hydralisks back into the Nydus worms. The roaches lasted longer, burrowing and tunneling under the ground to avoid the flames and take potshots at the wizard, but he just deflected them long before the acid could so much as touch his robes. They were eventually overwhelmed, forced back into the soil and away from the flames. When the last of the Swarm had been driven off, the fires returned to him, encircling him and Luna, closing them off from the outside world.

"No more distractions, Lovegood. Now, shall we talk?" He looked away from the wall of flame, turning to face Luna. She was in a loose stance, legs and tentacles spread far apart, psionic lightning arcing between her hands. Luna was ready to fight. She was desperately hoping she wouldn't have to. The human was terrifying. He tore great silences in the hivemind as casually as Luna had massacred the centaurs a year ago. She didn't have the element of surprise. All she had was her own flesh and blood.

And rage. Fear wouldn't help the Swarm. Rage was much better. How dare he, how dare he come talking about discussions and then kill so many of Luna's kin? She would crush him. Somehow.

"I do mean what I say. It would be a shame to have to kill you, just to get you to stop fighting me and listen."

The Swarm wasn't used to fighting the more powerful wizards yet? Fine, she would take something that would. It took a dozen wizards to fight a dragon? She had three.

Luna lashed out with lightning, energy arcing along the sides of the wizards shield. She reached out to the titanic reptiles, calling them to her. She dodged the returning blasts of light, leaping along the side of the ring of fire, making sure to stay far from the edges. The dragons were fast. They would be here in a few minutes. Luna burrowed through the grasping earth, forcing her way through it towards her opponent. The wizard leaped back, launching more spells. Dragonfire forced him to stop. He looked up, just in time to see swooping wings, and a mass falling off of them directly towards him.

With a wet splat, the mass scattered across the ground, sliding under Luna's leaping blades. When the human dodged to the side, the mass drew its edges up with a rattling croak, a wall of teeth rapidly collapsing onto the black robed man. In a wave of smoke, he warped over the fleshy trap, only for it to collapse to a point and spiral up towards him. As he looked around for an escape, he saw the massive spears of dirt that had been forced into place around him, preventing any escape.

The man laughed once more. "Oh, you are absolutely wonder-" The jaw snapped together. Luna let the spears collapse. Panting, she approached the spiral, unperturbed at the head that sprouted off of the side.

"All contained my Queen. What do you wish to do with it?"

"You know, you really don't have to call me that Thenabar."

Thenabar sprouted shoulders next to his head and used them to shrug. "If it helps, I don't really think of you in that way. For example, I'm going to call you that whether you like it or not."

"Someday, I am going to sic my nargles on you."

"And someday we'll deal with the semi-human writhing in my flesh. Wait, could that be today? My, how the time flies," Thenabar said sarcastically. "Quite honestly, I'm in favor of just killing him now. It's not like it would have anything of value to say."

"Humans can have value," Luna protested. Thenabar shrugged again. "Besides, we need to know how he found me in the first place. And probably what  _this_ ," Luna gestured to the still burning animated fire, remaining around the two zerg in a loose circle. "Is, and what it does."

"If you say so," Thenabar said doubtfully. The fleshy pylon bulged along the edge, partially disgorging the human. He was disturbingly calm, without so much as a hint of fear on his face. On the contrast, he was looking at Luna and Thenabar with an almost lecherous gaze, unabashedly rolling his eyes along her tentacles and claws.

"Are you finally ready to talk then, Miss Lovegood?" Despite having everything but his head encased in Thenabar's flesh, he was composed. Luna wasn't sure if that was deliberate or a sign of brain damage.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"Despite your clear study of the Dark Arts," he glanced at Thenabar's head, peeking out of the flesh wrapped around him. " _Both_  of your frankly impressive displays of knowledge, there are many things you simply have not had the time to learn. Although I must admit, runes grown into flesh is a new concept. I congratulate you on it."

"What do you mean, the Dar-" Luna's accusatory question was cut off abruptly by a look from Thenabar.

 _"Don't give him any more information,"_ Thenabar thought. Outwardly, his face contorted into an angry expression. "I told you, you shouldn't have shown yourself. Now look what's happened! This guy has shown up out of the blue, and we don't know who's coming next."

"You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I've come here to do you some grievous harm." The man said, bright red eyes staring intently. "No, I've come to extend an offer."

"What offer?" Luna asked cautiously. The last offer from a human had been to join the DA. That had ended...interestingly.

"An offer to join me."

"Oh, how remarkable. An offer to join a man trapped in a mammalian tree trunk. Truly, I am instantly swayed by your self-evident cunning and strength. How can we prove ourselves worthy of joining you in your supremely powerful position?" Thenabar said sarcastically.

"You didn't want to talk," he said, focusing on Luna. "So, I put myself in a position where you would feel safe to do so. You must be well aware, appearances are not everything." A leg emerged from Thenabar's makeshift prison, moving the thick flesh as if it was air. Thenabar frowned, shooting out tendrils to grasp his legs, but they just slid off like water. Within seconds the man was standing free. Luna scrambled back, but the wizard didn't make a move. He just kept talking calmly. "And rest assured, despite the spirit in which your statement was given, you have already proven yourselves worthy of an honor many other wizards would kill to possess. You are both more than worthy of standing beside Lord Voldemort."

**(Transition)**

_We'll just pretend our glorious author removed his head from his hind end and put that last transition there himself, shall we?_

_Burrowing: The act of digging through soil. Usually with the purpose of making a tunnel, sometime just to look for bugs to crush._

_Or, if you're five, just for fun. XD_

_~f_

**Burrowing: The Zerg Swarm constantly strive to adapt to different battlegrounds, to seek dominion over air, land, sea, and space. To this end, all zerg ground forces are equipped with the ability to burrow through the ground at will, to submerge themselves and hide from enemies. While underground, the zerg are undetectable to all but the most advanced sensors. Their tunneling leaves no trace. Somehow, they are able to replace any material they displace to totally conceal their activity. The Swarm uses this ability to hide and set up ambushes, as well as to buy time for reinforcements to arrive. In addition, some zerg strains can move around or use their unique abilities while burrowed, such as the lurker, infestor, baneling, and roach strains. The enemies of the Zerg can never be truly sure whether their next step will be on solid ground, or if an army is waiting, ready to burst out from under their feet.**


	48. Integration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Thursdays, I have decided, are the days for epic climaxes. Don't ask why. As such, the final chapter of Catalyst will eventually be released on a Thursday. This is not exactly a scientific superstition, especially since that phrase in and of itself is an oxymoron, but I never claimed any part of Catalyst was particularly scientific in the first place. Quite the opposite in fact. Also, don't own it.
> 
> _Heh. No more transition 'jokes'! *does a happy dance* ~f_
> 
> **(Yes. But now, it's time for the start of...acronym jokes! For example, what does the phrase 'very pissed right now' translate to if you stretch out every letter into a word? Well, the actual translation is a bit long, but the rough meaning translates to 'feauxen'.)**
> 
> _I didn't realize I was such an angry person. I'll try to watch myself in the future. ~f_

"He's been there ever since I can remember, a voice in the back of my mind," Thenabar said, standing in the center of the Malfoy's meeting room."I can't say I know how he got there, but Abathur has guided me since the moment I took my first steps." He had a captive audience; even behind their masks, Thenabar could feel the unwavering attention the Death Eaters were directing towards him. Then again, they might have been towards the spindly form of the Evolution Master standing farther back, or Luna's tentacles coiling next to him. It was quite hard to tell when you couldn't see the eyes.

"He didn't really know magic, at least, not like ours. He has a bit of a...different approach."

"Look at flesh, see potential. Consume essence, spin strands and sequences," the Evolution Master summarized. He really didn't know his audience. It was a wonder he'd managed to survive undetected before Thenabar came around.

"What Abathur is trying to say is he can eat anything living, and apply their traits to anything else. Magical, mundane, microscopic, doesn't matter. If he can get his hands on it, he can use it."

"How so?" Voldemort's voice was low, but the moment he spoke, everyone's attention gravitated towards him. They were fascinating, these human power dynamics. Without the benefit of a hivemind, human groups were so much more...fluid. Voldemort had barely needed to speak up, but his position ensured he was listened to regardless. Were the primal zerg similar? Wait, he was supposed to respond now, wasn't he? Verbal communication was so inconvenient sometimes.

"Exactly how you would think. Feed him a jellyfish, he can use the stingers. Feed him a turkey, he can use the feathers. Feed him a fly, he'll use the wings. Or possibly the eyes. Abathur can be odd like that."

"So he can use  _anything_ , then _?_ " Voldemort turned towards Luna and the Evolution Master. Luna shifted away, drawing into herself, a wave of discomfort emanated through the hivemind. Thenabar couldn't blame her. The human's essence really was quite shoddy. He could feel Evolution Master was actively resist tearing open the man and patching over all the holes.

"And such is the reason we agreed to serve you. Abathur's creatures and modifications are powerful, but they require a price. The creatures you massacred before cost an entire acromantula colony  _and_  an entire centaur colony. Without new essence, Abathur can't even modify already living creatures," Thenabar said, neatly weaving his web of lies. He didn't expect the Dark Lord to believe it. He had just clearly stated nearly all of their imaginary weaknesses, an idiotic move in any circumstance. But Thenabar expected he would play along long enough for them to collect everything they needed.

He had yet to meet a human that could resist even just poking at a lovely treat dangled in front of them.

Then again, he was also only two years old.

"But once he has what he needs, well, you've seen the results for yourself. Well, Lestrange did," Thenabar added dismissively.

"Hang on!" One of the masked humans stood up, glare directed at Thenabar. "This is the little mudblood that killed Bella?"

"Oh, no, of course not. I wasn't even there," Thenabar corrected idly. "That was Luna."

"You bitch!" The human raised his wand, slashing it violently towards Luna, a blast of light she dodged easily. Perhaps the human had swung his wand a bit too violently, because by the time he tried to pull the stick back for another curse, Luna had grabbed the offending limb and crushed it under her claws. The human collapsed to the floor, screaming.

"Rodolphus, precisely when did I give you permission to attack my guests?" Voldemort spoke up, looking down contemptuously at the crippled Death Eater.

"She killed Bella!" He really did seem quite fixated on that. Was it some kind of mental disease? Was she his mate, perhaps? Oh, yes, that was it. That did explain all the memories of their breeding, although it didn't really explain the anger. It wasn't as if Luna had stopped him from reproducing entirely. Oh, humans grew emotional attachments to their mates. That was it, probably. He needed to spend more time around adult humans. School children really did not make for good studies.

"And they will repent for that in the manner I, and I alone, willdetermine. As will you." Voldemort paused, considering. "Abathur. Can you heal Rodolphus' arm?"

"Could. Not recommended. Grasper limb poorly designed. Can improve, make better."

The Dark Lord examined Abathur, looking him straight in the eyes. He would want to see what Abathur could do, to poke and prod with the Evolution Master's capabilities. Thenabar was certain of that. And the more he wanted to find out...

"And you would not require more...essence?"

"Have enough for single subject. May require more after."

"In that case, do what you wish with him," Voldemort gestured dismissively towards the shocked human, who barely had time to protest before Abathur dragged him off.

The other Death Eaters began to radiate fear. Thenabar, while grateful for the meal, wasn't sure why it had taken it so long. Surely they had learned long before this that the only way to ingratiate themselves to other humans was to make themselves useful. If they didn't realise that they were much more useful for testing out the Dark Lords new toy than anything else, then that was their fault. That it provided the Swarm with more soldiers was just a happy coincidence.

Luna really did look uncomfortable. Maybe he could convince Abathur to let her try her hand at fixing Voldemort's essence first? Yes, that should help her out.

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore had plenty of experience with army encampments. Thrusting oneself into the largest war that people on either side of the Statute of Secrecy had ever seen tended to drill that knowledge rather deep into your head. During their youth, they tended to be fairly lively affairs, full of optimism and vigor. Dumbledore wondered how long it would take for this one to fall into gloom. The proximity to Hogsmeade would likely help, but considering the unsettling nature of their enemies, he doubted it would help for too long. Still, for now at least, the camp was comforting, a friendly bastion of humanity deep inside the beauty of the Scottish Highlands.

Adeviar seemed less enamored with the atmosphere. Since the Wizengamot meeting, he had been a nervous wreck, continuously glaring nervously at empty air as if he expected to leap out and attack him. Dumbledore couldn't blame him. Between the shock of finding that his whispers had mouths behind them, and the admittedly indelicate way he'd presented the Swarm to the world at large, Adeviar had more than enough things to be worried about. Even his surface thoughts were shrouded by a cacophony of shrieks and hisses. It was a wonder the man was functioning on a day to day basis.

"Adeviar," Dumbledore said to the anxious man. Adeviar's eyes snapped onto Dumbledore's, his chest heaving. Were those limbs or ribs pushing against the bandages? Then again, perhaps he didn't want to know. "Should we head inside? You seem quite tense."

Adeviar shivered. "Sorry Albus. They're loud here. Very loud. I can't think."

"All the more reason to head inside then. I heard that Rosmerta has brought some of her stock here; a good drink can do wonders for your mood," Dumbledore led Adeviar inside a tent, escorting him to a seat. He flicked his wand, summoning two glasses and a bottle of Firewhiskey. He poured each of them a sizable portion, passing a glass to Adeviar. After a moment of hesitation, a clawed hand reached out to grab it. Adeviar tore off his bandages to reveal several rows of sharp teeth, which closed around the fluid. Dumbledore watched in silence, fighting to keep a neutral expression on his face as he sipped from his own cup.

"Don't bother. I stare too," Adeviar said. The bandages rewrapped themselves as he put his cup down. There was a moment of silence. "So, when are you going to go slaughter him?"

"In due time," Dumbledore responded. "Even with magic, there are many logistical burdens to account for, defenses to prepare. We cannot attack without being prepared for their response."

"Just kill him the first time then!" Adeviar exclaimed.

"You know it's never that simple, Adeviar," Dumbledore said.

Adeviar's face twisted. He made a move to stand, before visibly restraining himself, sitting down and grabbing the table legs with clenched fists. "Sorry. I just...I want to be done with this shitfest. I want to be done with Abathur, with the whispers, and with that  _Merlin-damned_  ritual."

"Speaking of which, where did you find that ritual?" Dumbledore deflected. "I have searched through my own sources, but haven't been able to find anything like it."

"I'm not surprised," Adeviar said. "It was based off some really old, really common Egyptian ritual. Apparently the damn thing was used all the time back then. Got to the point where it was so well known, nobody bothered to write it down on anything. At least, anything that lasted. Had to remake most of it from paintings and dumb luck."

"Not a particularly difficult ritual then?"

"Eh. Depends on what you're trying summon. Thing's flexible, you can basically insert whatever criteria you want. Difficulty changes depending on that," Adeviar said, leaning back more in his chair. "We just asked for something that could defeat You-Know-Who, and magic requirements spiked like hell." He grimaced. "Course, we forgot to ask for something that actually would."

"Would you say we could use it to acquire something which would fight against the Swarm?" Dumbledore asked. Adeviar froze for a second

"I would say don't even try," he responded in a strained voice

"It would be far from a first resort, but you must admit, our enemy is practically a complete unknown. If this conflict were to take an unexpected turn, that ritual may make the difference between victory and annihilation," Dumbledore reasoned.

Adeviar didn't hold himself back this time. In a second, he was on his feet, moving towards Dumbledore. With a twitch of his right hand, the bandages fell off his arm, revealing the full extent of the warped limb. Adeviar held it in Dumbledore's face, giving him a good look at the mottled purple flesh, marked with scattered spikes of chitin and what looked disturbingly like predatory rows of teeth. He couldn't prevent himself from recoiling. "I was one of the  _lucky_ ones. You so much as  _think_ about performing that fucking ritual, and I'll show you what happened to the rest of us."

"I assure you, I would not even consider it except as an absolute last resort." Dumbledore promised, eyes firmly affixed to Adeviar's arm.

Adeviar remained standing for a few seconds more, but eventually retreated back to his seat. "Suppose I can't ask for anything more."

**(Transition)**

Umbridge tunneled through the earth, her long snake-like bodies forcing aside the dirt and bones, spreading creep across the tunnel where she emerged. Her skin rippled as the propagators of her flesh emerged from her mouths and set forth to encase herself in cocoons, growing herself into what would become hatcheries, spawning pools, more extensions of herself. The Evolution Master had commanded her to spread, and so she would.

With a hundred feet, she ran through the stone chambers, looking for lights and other signs of human presence. She couldn't grow too far. She was to remain hidden, a concealed dagger in the back of the psionics. Certainly there was biomass, an absolute fortune of it. Even the walls themselves were rich and thick with it, enough biomass to support a fully fledged hive cluster. Why the terrans had let so much of it go to waste, let alone go to such lengths to hide it away, she could only guess at.

Her human memories, foggy and distant, contained something about a plague, but that still made no sense. If they were infected and losing population, would they not need all the biomass they could get? Whatever. The folly of humans would feed her flesh, and her flesh would feed on them.

Her eyes, embedded in the zerglings, found nothing but small scavengers, living off of scraps in the cavern. Hardly a threat. The Hive would replace them in time, carrying her eyes yet farther through the tunnels. The catacombs would become her soon enough. By the will of the Evolution Master, the entirety of Paris would sink into her flesh. Eventually. The Evolution Master had other plans for now.

Umbridge sent her center through her throat, emerging carrying a single seed, mottled black and red, constantly shifting in her claws. The creep, no longer her flesh, stretched out towards it, snatching it from her hands and rooting it to the bones below. It grew into a gourd-like shape, clutching several oblong shapes between its lid and its base. It irritated her, flesh grown on her own that was not hers, but she would obey. The reasoning was sound. Umbridge may have knowledge of the psionic's government, but Thenabar was much more capable of commanding younger siblings.

**(Transition)**

_(There should be a transition here, but Strandshaper's an idiot)_

**The following is not canon, I've run out of canon stuff, so this is what you get. Enjoy.**

_Don't worry. I've seen the planning document. The only problem here is that the number of chapters exceeded the number of canonical things there are to talk about in Zerg lore. Strandshaper isn't out of ideas yet._

_Unless you're talking about transition jokes. He ran out of those about 20 chapters ago. ~f_

**Zerg Immune System: In most organisms, the immune system serves as a final line of defense, a way to protect the fragile ecosystem contained within the flesh of most creatures, and to purge intruders before they do too much damage, as it did for early zerg. In the early days of the Swarm, invading a planet meant not just slaughtering any defenders, but also fighting off a myriad of native infectants, often losing whole hive clusters to disease and toxins. In response, the Overmind redirected a great deal of its intellect towards developing a more robust immune system, learning the strategies of each world's pathogens, and building defenses against them. Between its efforts and the Zerg's natural ability to adapt, each new planet had less and less threats to offer the Swarm. By the time the Swarm had fully solidified its interstellar territory, the myriad diseases of the galaxy were little more than distractions to their conquest. It was then that the eye of the Swarm and the still youthful Abathur began to regard these diseases much differently. The assimilation and implementation of the defiler had revealed the potential for microscopic weaponry, and in response, the zerg immune system was retooled from a weapon of total annihilation, to something more analogous to a massive hunting party.**

**When a pathogen is identified in a zerg body, rather than being immediately consumed, it is left to reproduce freely until it reaches a certain concentration, during which its tactics and weapons are observed and analyzed. After the pathogen reaches a certain concentration, which varies depending on how severe the infection is, one of two methods is used to capture and examine the infectant. If the pathogen is produced freely in the bloodstream, then hunter cells are sent to gather them in bulk, absorbing them into their membrane, and breaking them down into essence to be absorbed and examined. If the pathogen needs to reproduce within a host cell, special 'honeypot' cells are produced in the zerg hosts tissues, cells which are far easier for any organism to infiltrate. Once the honeypot cells are infected, their membrane encloses itself in a solid shield, and the cell as a whole detaches itself from the rest and floats in the blood, waiting for pickup from the hunter cells.**

**Once the hunter cells acquire their prey, they leave whatever zerg strain they were spawned in and transport themselves to nearby evolution chambers, or hatcheries if evolution chambers are not present. There, they are analyzed for weaponry or defenses useful to the Swarm's own microbial combatants. After the infectants are examined, useful sequences are added to the zergs biological weaponry, while defenses are added to the zerg immune system, shared through the creep. In this way, it is not inaccurate to say that the entire Swarm shares an immune system. Any poison you try to use against the zerg is just another method to kill you.**


	49. Domination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: So I’ve started watching Jojo recently. I’ve never seen better evidence for electronically transmitted drugs before, and this is coming from the person who’s watched Red vs Blue. The early seasons. With the time travel. And the...other things. Let it never be said that science is not open to new ideas. Also, don’t own it.
> 
>  
> 
> _I’m sure that’s what we’re supposed to take away from Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure… ~f_

In a creep covered room, riddled with pustules of green fluid, Abathur slashed open a cocoon. The cocoon was quite tall, set up in front of a now covered painting, the occupant of which had long since run away. A man fell out of it, covered in spines and carapace. He looked disoriented for a second, before his eyes locked upon Luna’s.

“I...I never imagined... I am truly sorry my Queen! I shall dedicate my life to your service!” Rodolphus had been released from his cocoon. He was kneeling on the ground, practically overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the hivemind. Luna could understand it. She had felt the same thing when she was first brought in. Still, Luna found it hard to empathize. Another human was in the Swarm. Another human got to share in the glory, the feeling of belonging, of being part of something unimaginably bigger. He got to be part of the greatest thing in the universe, and he seemed to be perfectly happy in it. He was one with the Swarm, as was she.

How many humans weren’t?

“A few billion; I can’t say we know the exact number.” Luna turned her gaze away from Abathur’s last minute inspection towards Thenabar. He raised an eyebrow. “What? You asked.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. I just wonder, is there any reason we can’t just bring all of them into the Swarm?”

“Inefficient,” Abathur growled out. “Only distinguishing characteristics, intelligence, psionics. Psionics rare. Mass infestation not effective. Minor intelligence, not useful to Swarm. Current strains superior.”

“That’s not all they have,” Luna protested.”When they’re in groups, they’re...they’re...” She couldn’t come up with the words. Instead, she pushed out the feeling, that feeling of belonging and purpose, so potent even without the hivemind. The passion that had led her to the ministry, the rage that caused her to kill Bellatrix Lestrange. She flooded the nearby hivemind to them. Abathur _had_ to get it.

“Emotions, product of social interactions. Would require spreading intelligence. Potential harm to hivemind. Cannot happen,” Abathur paused. “Voldemort approaching. Thenabar, escort Rookwood, explain.”

“Of course Evolution Master. Up, Rookwood. Time to introduce you to _our lord and master_ ,” He grinned. “You should be quite aware of how to play the part. Do put on a good show for him.” Thenabar stopped in front of the door, waiting for the creep to recede off of the edges, before opening it and leading Rookwood out the door. It shut behind them. 

“How come you’re fine with infesting him instead of the rest of the humans?” Luna demanded petulantly.

“Psionics valuable. Compensates for other flaws,” Abathur responded dispassionately. An image appeared in Luna’s mind, a hulking humanoid covered in pustules and tentacles. It was disgusting, resembling something closer to a half burnt octopus than a human. Its eyes were dead, empty. “Only alternative.”

“Abathur...have you experimented on humans?” Luna asked with a sinking feeling. Abathur was old, she suddenly remembered. She didn’t know exactly how many years, but he was older than any living human. He’d had time enough to do most anything he wanted to.

“Yes,” Luna’s heart stopped. “Ordered by Queen of Blades. Not good. Poor essence. Was pleased to stop.”

“Oh,” Luna said, relieved. She was silent for a moment. Abathur turned his attention to another cocoon. “It’s fine if they’re magical then?”

“Result superior. Worth effort.”

Luna beamed. She could work with that. Sure, it wasn’t all of the humans. But she could still share the glory, the unity of purpose and thought, this innate sense of belonging, the things every human searched for their entire lives, and all it would take was an afternoon with Abathur. She could convince people to join with that. Besides, she had always wanted to try being a door to door salesman. How hard could it be to convince someone to get what they already wanted?

**(Transition)**

Rookwood stood in the center of a pile of downed wizards. Only unconscious of course. Abathur still needed them for later, and while the Evolution Master probably could have resurrected them, Thenabar knew that Voldemort would neither take the revelation of that ability nor the slaughter of his minions without a great deal of unpleasant fuss. For now, the ‘man’ was radiating giddyness at a rate that made Thenabar nauseous.

“Wandless magic without training, and at such a scale. Your pet demon truly works wonders,” Voldemort said, red eyes darting across the masked piles of bodies.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he just implanted the wand into his spine. It might take a while for his mind to adapt fully, but its much better than having to hold it and swing it around all the time,” Thenabar clarified. The news just seemed to make the amateur essence spinner all the happier. No wonder his progenitor had shied away from laughter. Good moods from humans were absolutely disgusting. He really would have to ask the Evolution Master to look into that.

“How long would it take it to modify the rest of my Death Eaters?”

“That depends on how long it will take to acquire more essence, my lord.”

“Oh, I’m certain you won’t be waiting particularly long. I have just the beasts in mind to sate your demon’s appetite,” Voldemort replied with a vicious smile, his emotions shifting into a slightly more palatable meal of perverse joy.

**(Transition)**

 

“This is most likely your last chance to head back, Adeviar.”

“You think I’ll pass a chance to attack these bastards?” A clawed hand gripped a well-worn wand, pointing warily between the trees.

“You have not yet encountered the Swarm up close. There may be some rather adverse effects.” Dumbledore said ineffectually. His eyes darted along the forest floor, largely shrouded in shadow. He was pleased to note the ICW soldiers doing the same.

“Bit late for ‘adverse effects’, isn’t it?” Adeviar said grinning, showing off sharp, serrated teeth.

“I suppose it is," Dumbledore conceded. “Regardless, you’re certain you’re able to do this?”

“Just try to fucking stop me.” Adeviar snapped. Dumbledore let out a small chuckle in spite of himself.

“Well then, if you’re certain, let’s begin.” Dumbledore raised a hand. The troop he was leading to the zerg’s home base stopped, warily looking around. By his own reckoning, they were about a hundred meters away from their territory the last time he had attacked. The decidedly gelatinous feeling under his boots indicated otherwise. They had grown. Dumbledore held up a hand, signaling the collected force of a few dozen trained wizards to stop. Several of the wizards, Adeviar among them, cast spells on their eyes, allowing them to view the wards around the colony. More than likely, they had replaced them after Dumbledore’s last incursion. The Curse Breakers glanced around the woods, before their eyes locked almost simultaneously on a single point.

“Dumbledore, what kind of wards did you say they had last time?” Adeviar asked slowly.

“I didn’t have time to examine them closely, but they didn’t seem to have much more than a concealing ward and extremely basic protection,” Dumbledore said hesitantly.

“But they were normal wards?”

“Yes, as far as I could tell. Why do you ask?”

“Well, normally, when you look at normal wards, they aren’t looking back.”

Dumbledore enhanced his own vision wordlessly. A beast stood before him, composed of glowing blue lines and bright, malevolent eyes. The eyes stretched across a near invisible boundary, lining the edges of the purple gel. Vaguely runic patterns shifted over it like skin over taut muscle. Spirals of mist emerged out from the front reaching towards the ICW battalion. For now, however, it seemed content to simply observe.

“Adeviar, have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Nope. Guess that means it’s time for the first universal backup plan,” Adeviar raised his wand. “You might want to look away for this part.”

“And why exactly is that?”

“Last I heard, Wizengamot was taking the whole ‘Unforgivable’ thing pretty seriously.”

Before Dumbledore had time to respond, Adeviar shouted the incantation, “ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”, and a sickly green jet of light slammed into the wards, carving a ragged scar across into them. The barrier screamed, a painful thought that echoed painfully throughout Dumbledore’s mind. The blue energy tried to push its way into the gap, only to stop at an invisible barrier, unable to close its wound. A spectral talon lashed out from the wall. It launched itself towards the wizards, who barely leaped out of the way. More ghostly limbs forced themselves from the barrier, attacking the battalion.

“Was this really the best course of action?” Dumbledore yelled, dodging away from a grasping tendril.

“Well, it was the quickest one. Other option was to spend weeks studying alien wards. Probably not practical, right?” Adeviar fired a second killing curse, carving another gap. The other wizards followed his lead, a full spectrum of curses flying through the air. Unfortunately none of them managed to scar the wards in the same way as the Unforgivable did and the ward seemed to...regain its composure. Its eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, the curses began rebounding out of the ward back towards the casters. The runic patterns peeled themselves off the wall, forming into new curses, forcing the wizards to block or dodge their own spells. Each new spell, each new attack, only seemed to empower the ward, giving it more weapons to use.

“Just use the killing curse, you daft cunts,” Adeviar said, firing more deathly rays of verdant green into the barrier, tearing yet more ghastly holes and eliciting more horrendous shrieks.

Some of the ICW battalion tried just that, aiming with deadly purpose and firing with lethal precision. Holes became increasingly common in the ward and its attacks became more infrequent, more desperate. Those that were incapable of the murderous hatred abandoned their attempts at offense, instead focusing on shielding the capable casters from the magical barrage. The ward became nearly nonexistent, more scars than muscle. With a last incredibly loud cry, the wards collapsed. The younger wizards let out a ragged cheer.

The older wizards managed to shield the battalion from the wave of webs launched from the warped acromantulas standing behind the demolished defense.

“Fine then. Time for universal backup plan number two,” Adeviar grimaced. Great flaming beasts ruptured out of Adeviar’s wand. They marched through the webbed woods, annihilating plants and zerg alike, incinerating the webs in a relentless burning frenzy. The mutated acromantula scrambled over each other to get away from the fire, but Adeviar’s fiendfyre flew right through them, leaving nothing but ashes. In a matter of minutes, all trace of the zerg were gone. Adeviar subdued his flames. Only dead earth remained. The other wizards, Dumbledore included, did nothing but watch.

“Was that truly necessary Adeviar?” Dumbledore asked solemnly.

“Of course it was,” Adeviar shot back angrily. “They all need to burn. All of them.”

**(Transition)**

Jean-Paul never thought of himself as a particularly important person. He had a low level job in the ICW as a scheduling clerk, in charge of meetings, conferences, and very little else. To most people he was just another face at a desk, another voice in the office reading out notes to a dicta-quill, another wand twirling through the air in a dull, routine fashion. Each day when his shift was done, he walked towards the Floo terminal, flicking the powder into the fire in a well practiced manner, before walking through and being sent through the dizzying flames to his peach papered apartment, where he lived alone. He prepared a simple meal, read a bit from yesterday’s paper, then dropped straight into bed. It was a tedious routine, but a comfortable one. It was far from glamorous, but he had long since accepted that this was his life for the foreseeable future 

After another day at work, another meal, and another day’s paper, Jean-Paul pulled himself into bed, resting his head against the pillow and facing the blank ceiling, willing himself to go to sleep. The blanket was comforting, a shield of warmth against the frigid night air. It wasn’t until it reached around to stab into the base of his neck that he realized it was the wrong color.

Before he had the chance to react, his entire body below his neck went numb. He struggled, trying in vain to move himself as the blanket reared up and tore itself apart into dozens of cords, topped with rotating teeth while a thick fabric clamped itself over his mouth. Jean-Paul’s mind raced back to his foggy memories of Beauxbatons Defense classes, trying desperately to recall anything that would help him. He couldn’t. The cords descended. Jean-Paul wasn’t sure what was worse, seeing the ravenous tendrils tearing apart his flesh, or the fact that he was unable to stop or even feel it.

Minutes passed. Jean-Paul could do nothing but watch as his body was eaten away. Eventually, he just closed his eyes, hoping that this was nothing but a bad dream. He would wake up. It would all be fine. He could go back to his boring job and his boring life where no demonic lethifolds came in the night to eat him. He felt something brush against his forehead. See, that was probably someone checking in on him. He must have overslept, and someone was waking him up.

Jean-Paul opened his eyes just in time for the flat bladed appendage of the creature to slip under his skull. In desperation, he closed his eyes again, but it was too late. He could feel the monster’s limb squirming across his cavities, feeling the rubbery crevices and packed curves lining his skull. Wait, how was he feeling that? With an alarming start, Jean-Paul realized he wasn't feeling the creature digging around. He was feeling what it was feeling. Not only that, he could feel his body below him, but not quite. It had the same shape as far as he could tell, but it was both more fluid and more stiff all at once, and more importantly, he still couldn’t lift a finger. Well, he could. But he wouldn’t. This was terrifying, an experience ripped straight out of nightmares, but he wouldn’t move. This was uncomfortable, but it was necessary. Necessary? Necessary for what? Right, for hiding. Humans could read minds. We need human minds to hide behind.

Overmind, this process was disorienting. He hoped the others were having a better time of it than he was. He felt himself digging around his brain, still dreaded what the monster would do when he had decided he had spent enough time playing with his food. Not to mention he still had to dig through the skull, connect the rest of his nervous systems, all while preventing himself from bleeding out before everything was done. He was planning to eat his own brain, to replace the rest of himself? He would die, he would bleed out. Oh Merlin, he would have to grow a full set of internal organs just to keep his cover alive wouldn’t he? That would by hassle. He was willing to bet that Thenabar never had to deal with this crap when he was infiltrating. Whatever. He would just finish the process, merge himself together more fully, finish overwriting those leftover human revulsion, and get back to work tomorrow. He was lucky he didn’t have to sleep anymore, otherwise he would have had to go in exhausted and dreary eyed. Once he made a copy of his old body, there shouldn’t be too much left to do.

A few hours later, Jean-Paul rose out of bed and picked up his wand, giving it a flick. He was disappointed when only a scant few sparks flew out of the carved wood, but not surprised. Psionics were delicate. The fact that he could use magic at all after that was a testament to both the Evolution Master’s skill and his own. Jean-Paul picked it up anyway and walked over to his fireplace, tossing in the floo powder with a practiced gesture. He walked through calmly, enjoying the novel sensation of strengthened lungs which could easily breathe in the smoke. In a novel and yet familiar blur of images, he was transported to the ICW, ready for another day of writing memos and preparing the most delightful schedules that would let Disciple Umbridge know exactly where each of their targets would be.

He exchanged sly grins with a few of the other hybridized morphalisk, admiring the way their skin stretched and flowed so naturally. Was that what he looked like? He had never bought a mirror, but from the equally admiring looks of the others, he must have been. A human mind was a wonderful prop for a disguise.

Together, the morphalisk filed into their desks. The lowest positions, assigned the most tedious tasks. Scheduling meetings, assigning rooms. Really, with his new perspective, Jean-Paul was surprised that this tactic had never been attempted before. He and the other wizards of his ilk had so much influence over the day to day managings of the magical government. If you knew where all the important people were going to be, what was to stop someone from setting up a little surprise for them along the way? Jean-Paul doubted that anyone was going to pay any extra attention to one more quill, and the sheer mass of times and dates that ran through here would make it all but impossible for the wizards to pick up on the pattern.

Another human world infested through overwhelming numbers. How hilarious was that?

**(Transition)**

_(I had to remind him to put that one in, but he did do it on his own. Our author is_ learning! _~f)_

**Hivemind: One of the most unique traits of the zerg is their connection to each other, the omnipresent psionic link shared by the entirety of the Swarm. Much like the zerg themselves, the hivemind is not so much a single entity as a massive collection of individual instances, connected into a greater whole. The greater, more intelligent members of the Swarm, such as broodmothers and cerebrates, project their own instance of the hivemind over a certain distance, whether a planet, a continent, or even just a city depending on the strength of the individual. Overlords serve to enhance that range, as well as provide an intermediary between the commanders and the uncountable soldiers underneath them. While overlords have been observed projecting a bubble of control unprompted by a commander, their ability to do so is much less, both in fine control and quantity, then when they serve as a relay. Interestingly, the instanced hiveminds of each commander can often be completely separate from each other, preventing one commander from taking control of another. However, this only happens when the hivemind has been thrown into flux from the death of the primary leader of the Swarm, which causes individual commanders to vie for control over each other. When the Swarm is intact, each commander retains their own individual instance of the hivemind, but remain connected to the greater Swarm under command of the leader, although more often than not, the leader cannot do more than communicate to each commander.**

**The rank and file of the zerg, the ones sent into direct combat, cannot project a hivemind or psionic connection of any kind. As a result, left to their own devices, they act without any form of intelligence, less than ravenous beasts. Even when controlled by a higher intelligence, a strong enough burst of psionic energy can cause them to break ranks and claw mindlessly towards the source, even crossing the stars to reach it. This has been used with some success to disorganize the zerg, although the psychological effect of seeing swarms literally crawling over each other to reach you somewhat counteracts the logistical benefit.**

  



	50. Aggravation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: So much good stuff to watch, so little time. It’s frankly absurd just how much there is. If a person devoted their entire life to watching good shows, series, etc., they couldn’t even come close to finishing them. Just ridiculous. You could spend 345 hours on Critical Role alone. Speaking of which, see ya. Also, don’t own it.
> 
> _He was supposed to be watching 七つの大罪, (The Seven Deadly Sins) but I guess he got distracted by Matt Mercer’s charismatic visage. I can’t blame him, really. Matt Mercer is pretty distracting. ~f_
> 
> **(On a somewhat unrelated note, it has come to my attention that a user by the name of Mystery Man has reuploaded some early chapters of Catalyst to the site royalroads, and has claimed that he is my brother. Let me be absolutely clear that exactly none of that statement is true. The story was reposted without my permission or knowledge, and at the time of writing this, I have submitted a report to the site owners, informing them of the problem. For now, it appears the story has been removed, either by the support team or the poster. But I do want to make it abundantly clear that the only sites I’ve posted this story to are Ao3 and fanfiction. Anything else is not me.)**

Abathur was never meant to be a commander. It wasn’t a flaw, it was simply a fact. He had been grown as a researcher, a weaver of essence, a shaper of flesh. He was certainly  _ capable  _ of military command. In fact, he had enough skill to grow the likes of brutalisks and leviathans on the battlefield, in the midst of bloody combat. When growing weapons of war, a basic understanding of tactics was simply necessary. But it was not what he was made for. This conflict with the terrans, the mind games and deception, had sapped his time for evolution. 

But Thenabar was handling the humans and working with Umbridge, who was managing the infiltration and the war, while Luna acquired more test subjects. And that left Abathur just where he wanted to be, standing in front of a row of cocoons, shaping and molding the next generation of the Swarm.

The Hive was both the first of his brood and the first place his attention was directed. They were an odd sort. A collection of traits and essences gathered by a primitive intelligence, focused on immediate survival and evolution. Almost like a primitive Swarm in their design, overly diversified with no real sense of cohesion and no specific roles to fill. That was fine. It simply meant they were in need of refinement. 

The Hive had shined as spies, assistants, an army of hands and legs extended from a greater mind, such as his own or the weavers’. So that’s what they would continue to be for now. Abathur took samples of each of the Hive’s strains, mixed them together. The mass of the Hive would have to be simple, flexible. The end result was a small body, sitting on a series of branching limbs, each tipped with a single needle-thin claw. A small orifice surrounded by sensory organs would produce either the essence or silk needed for their controller’s work. Simple, efficient. There would likely be need for more specialized strains, but for now, this would suffice. Abathur forced the mutation out from his mind into the flesh of the billions of already living Hive, forcing them into cocoons. Mentally observing the billions of individuals, he found another pleasant surprise: the Hive facilitated the mutation on its own. The newly evolved Hive attached themselves to the immature cocoons, piercing in and accelerating the process. Abathur estimated the Hive decreased their own mutation time by at least a third. A facet worth examining, a concept with massive potential. But later. He had other strains to evolve.

The weavers, eight legged shapers of wards and runes, were the next to gain Abathur’s attention. Physically, there was little need for improvement. The acromantula had already been made to weave webs, and he had already set up places for the Hive to nest. Aside from some minor improvements, adjusting the jaw shape, replacing terran processes with Swarm ones, there was no need for him to do anything. The greater problem was with their mind.

When the weavers had been left to their own devices, they had constructed wards. Powerful wards, complex wards, but incredibly inefficient. The weavers had confined them to acting like beast-like behavior, as thought the wards were a crude thing of flesh and blood rather than the phantasmal force they should have been. 

Part of that was his own fault. He had thought of runes as the essence of psionics and that thinking had contaminated the weavers. For the same reason, he wouldn’t be able to fix it. As much as Abathur loathed to admit it, he was less than capable of filling this role. A disturbing implication. He had been guiding the Swarm’s development since his creation. But psionics demanded a fundamental shift of nature. To advance it, he would have to overwrite almost all of his base instincts. Unacceptable. His ability to alter essence would be crippled. The Swarm would stagnate. A biological standstill just for the sake of psionic advancement would leave the zerg no better than  _ humans _ . The very idea was so foul that he had to flood his brain with memory suppressants just to purge the comparison from his mind.

No, the Swarm needed a new Master, a Master of psionics, a mirror of his own position. It would be tricky. The Overmind had personally created Abathur from the strands of every zerg strain in existence. To do anything less would be a waste. He was sure there were a few methods that could work. Abathur just had to experiment.

He still had a few other strains to work with, aside from that. He set the Hive on the cocooned Death Eaters. He had enough experience to form a template. They could handle it without him. Now, the chizpurfle. Small parasites that metabolized magic. Their essence had all sorts of uses from minimizing waste to speeding up growth, to even potential weaponization against the wizards and protoss. But the reduction of waste was the simplest and most immediately useful implementation. Ignoring the muffled thrashing and screaming behind him, Abathur turned his eyes to the creep tumor covering the room. Should he put the chizpurfle’s magic-metabolizing organs in the tumor, or spread them out across the creep? Spreading them out would be more efficient, but could also force the growth to slow down. He would have to test out both. Oh, and he still needed to figure out how to use the basilisk essence, and half a dozen others besides. So much to do, so little time.

**(Transition)**

“Good evening sir. Would you like to hear about our lord and savior the Overmind?” Luna barely managed to get the words out of her mouth before breaking into giggles. She couldn’t help it, the whole concept was just too funny. Luna remembered muggles trying the same line on her when she was still human, and the absurdity of using it now just made her laugh.

The wizard standing across from her didn’t seem to be as amused. His eyes seemed  to be transfixed on her tentacles, which were shaking mildly behind her and waving around in front of the hydralisk at her side. His hand darted towards his pocket, where Luna could see the outline of a long rod.

“No, don’t do that,” Luna asked. The hydralisk bristled. His hand froze. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. This could be the most important decision of your life, I should take it more seriously.” 

“Honey, what’s going on?” A moderately large women, dressed in a floral-patterned robe, stepped out into Luna’s view. Before she could pull out her wand, Luna reflexively froze her in place. 

Crap. Why did she do that? Now they weren’t going to want to join at all, because she had made a poor first impression. Just to make sure, she reached out with her mind, caressing the surface of the two human’s thoughts. Terror. Pure terror. Of course. Why would it be anything else? She had come to their house, prevented them from moving, and still hadn’t explained what she was doing here. Sighing, Luna ran a hand over the hydralisk’s ridge, calming herself by twining her fingers between the barbs, frowning. This was her first time, and it was going absolutely horribly. The hydralisk snorted, lightly pushing its head against her. She giggled, and turned back to the humans. Their eyes seem to have moved from her, practically gluing onto the hydra. They were interested in it? Oh, that was great! Maybe she could salvage this after all. 

“Are you interested in it?” she asked, putting a smile on her face. She ordered the hydralisk to lift itself up, revealing the full extent of its form. Now, that was getting a reaction. But why weren’t they saying anything? Oh. Right. Oops. She loosened her grip.

“I’m sorry about that. This is my first time doing this, and it’s not going at all like it should. Let’s start again, okay? I’m Luna, and I want to convince you to join the Swarm.” They were silent. She took that as a sign to continue. “Have you ever felt like you didn’t fit in? Like you didn’t have a purpose?” They still weren’t responding. Luna had no idea what to do.

“I mean if you have, that’s great. But how would you like to feel like that all the time?”

They were still saying nothing, just standing there shivering from the cold. Luna probably should close the door, but then she would have to step in the house and that seemed rude. 

“I know, I’m doing a really bad job at explaining this. It’s not the kind of thing that’s easy to put into words.” They weren’t even listening anymore, just keeping their eyes closed and muttering to themselves. Was the wind getting in their eyes? 

“Oh, I know!” Luna said, and began to concentrate, drawing the psychic weave of the hive mind around herself, focusing it into two points. With needle thin focus, she guided the threads of the hivemind into their skulls, saw their muscles relax as the overwhelming might of the Swarm swept through them. Already, Luna could see tendrils of thought from the other zerg reaching into their minds, playing around with their potential new family. 

“Do you get it now?” Luna released her telekinetic grip, leaving the two psionics free to move. They dropped to the ground, before standing up unsteadily, eyes vaguely glazed over. Luna was surprised at how well they’d taken to the hivemind, and how well the hivemind had taken to them. The weave of thought around their skulls was smooth, simple, almost exactly like the hydralisk still cuddling under her arm. The humans stood up, gazing at Luna with dulled expressions of awe. 

“I’m so sorry, my queen. I didn’t know, didn’t realize what you were trying to give to us,” the man said.

“Please, forgive our folly and let us fully join you,” the women chimed in, using the same flat reverent tone. 

“Of course! I mean, it was my fault too, I didn’t do that well,” Luna said ”But you get it now! You see!”

“But...this isn’t permanent, right? We still need to be changed, to be more like you,” the man said, a downward tilt on his lips.  

“You already know that? You’re right, but that won’t be a problem! I’ll just take you to Abathur, and he can have you infested right away!” Luna said. This was great! Two more people already, and all she had to do was show them, she didn’t even have to explain it! If it was all this easy, then Luna would be able to give so many people what Abathur had given her. She felt like she was on top of the world. 

Luna skipped around, directing the two new recruits towards You-Know-Who’s base, hydralisk coiled by her side. Behind her, the couple walked deliberately, legs moving mechanically one in front of the other, following her to Abathur and his cocoons.

**(Transition)**

“Do those buggers seem larger to you?” Adeviar asked with a scowl, golden eye trained on the distant creatures floating through the air. Dumbledore squinted, but was unable to make out any details between the distance and cloud cover. The balloon-like beasts had been hovering around the camp for days, placidly floating through the clouds. They had sent brooms up to them, trying to get a closer look, but the living balloons had just hidden themselves in the clouds. They hadn’t done anything aggressive, but they were still too close to zerg for comfort. They put everyone, including Dumbledore, on edge. 

“I really couldn’t say, Adeviar,” Dumbledore replied after taking a look. 

“Well they’re louder. Like a bunch of flying cockroaches. Practically screaming their eyes off.” Adeviar levelled a suspicious glare towards the bulbous, presumably zerg creatures. “Do you think fiendfyre would reach high enough?”

“Do you think you could keep control from far enough to prevent it from coming back down and burning us?” Dumbledore inquired. Adeviar grimaced, but stayed silent. He wasn’t the only one nervous about the creatures. On his visits from Hogwarts, Dumbledore had caught more than a few of the younger soldiers casting glances into the sky, waiting for the ball to drop. Still, nothing had happened.

“For all we know, these are merely here are observers. Better to save our strength for those foes which we know to be imminently dangerous.”

“If you think observers aren’t dangerous, then I have a few questions about how you’ve survived this long,” Adeviar said in a brusque manner.

“I intended to say that observers are unlikely to run us down and claw our faces off,” Dumbledore elaborated.

“Maybe not directly.”

Dumbledore sighed. “My point is, take every moment of relaxation you can get. There is nothing to be gained from imagining threats around every corner, waiting for the ball to drop.” Adeviar’s head jerked up. “Adeviar?”

“They’re  _ laughing _ . Why are they laughing? Since when can they-” His eyes widened. Dumbledore followed his gaze. He saw the bloated flyers opening their flesh, disgorging a cargo of bulbous green orbs, falling down towards the encampant, more numerous than clouds. A bombing run. They had been bombers, flying unopposed over the camp for days, watching. Merlin.

Adeviar spun into action before he did, shouting out a warning before putting up a shield, covering himself and Dumbledore under a translucent dome. Across the tents, similar domes flashed into existence. Not enough. The bombs landed, bursting into splashes of bright green liquid that ate into the ground. Screams rang through the air. One of the bombs landed directly on top of Dumbledore and Adeviar, glowing liquid splattering over the shield, threatening to blast through it from the sheer force of the impact. Adeviar angled the shield, causing the liquid to slide off and into the ground, carving great scores in the dirt. 

Above them, the zerg flyers were leaving, drifting off into the horizon. Beams of red and green were rocketed into the clouds, shooing them out of range of the camp. Good. There were plenty who had survived, plenty fit enough to drive them away. Dumbledore stood, surveying the situation. Tents were half melted, the furnishing inside warped and poking out into the camp like domestic rose bushes. The screams of the injured rang in his ears. 

“Spread out, search for survivors,” Dumbledore ordered. Stupid. Search for  _ the  _ survivors, never imply that there might not be any. He was out of practice, Dumbledore realized as he walked away. Peacetime had dominated his life for the past decade, and while he wouldn’t have traded it for anything, it made him rusty, ill-equipped to handle this. 

Dumbledore moved between the half dissolved tents, eyes scanning the ground for anyone. He could hear the occasional sharp crack of apparition, the wizards popping away. Try as he might, Dumbledore couldn’t seem to find any injured wizards, those who would be too hurt to apparate but still able to leave. It could be that their more able comrades had pulled them out. He glanced to one of the pools of acid. It had opened a large rift in the ground, nearly as deep as a person was tall. What would that do to a person without the benefit of a shield? Perhaps there was another reason he was finding no wounded. 

Dumbledore kept looking for another few minutes, but everyone able seemed to have already evacuated the camp. In all honesty, he should probably be doing the same. This search had so far proved to be fruitless, and every second he stayed did nothing but put him further at risk. He flicked the Elder wand, sending his patronus to Adeviar, sending a message requesting a rendezvous. With a forlorn sigh, he turned towards the center of the ruined dwelling and started walking. This wasn’t the end of the conflict by any means. Dumbledore had yet to get a firm idea of the casualties, but in terms of general damage, the only things to be destroyed were the easily replaceable tents. There had been no follow up attack, no attempt to capitalize on the ambush. It made no sense. The camp wasn’t very large, and it took only a few minutes for Dumbledore and Adeviar to reach each other. Adeviar was accompanied by a few other wizards, looking wearily across the campground as they stepped over a leaking sink to join Dumbledore.

“Any luck?” Adeviar began.

“Unfortunately not. Have you?” 

“Not a bit.”

Dumbledore sighed. “It might be worth leaving with the rest then. It seems there’s nothing more to-”

Two of the wizards close to the edge of their group erupted in plumes of green liquid, turning them into skeletons in a second. The remainder whirled around in time to spot a set of green orbs emerging from the ground, dirt sliding off their bulbous bodies. Leftover bombs? They turned to face Dumbledore, and the realization hit him like a physical blow. These were living creatures. The zerg had dropped living creatures to die, sacrificed their own just to land a first blow. They valued their lives as much as wizards valued their spells.

What in Merlin’s name were they fighting?

The green blobs curled in on themselves, rolling into balls that propelled themselves towards the cluster of wizards. Adeviar let out a wave of fire, detonating most of the creatures, while Dumbledore formed a shield that caught the worst of the blast. Splashes of acid slipped around the arcane barrier, burning holes in his clothing, melting the surface of his skin. Dumbledore grit his teeth and kept up the barrier, allowing the wizard behind him to pick off the remaining orbs before they got too close. When the smoke and acid had cleared, Dumbledore could see the holes the explosive beasts had crawled out from. They had been burrowed underneath the ground, hidden, ready to kill anyone that had walked above them. He had been lucky, incredibly lucky. 

“Banelings. Burn-bearers, digesters. Fortification destroyers,” Adeviar spat out. “Suicide bombers.”

_ “Spoilsport,”  _ a familiar voice rang in their minds. 

The wizards, high on adrenaline, spun outwards into a circle, wands pointing outwards, only to find nothing but empty space. 

_ “Cute. If I was actually anywhere near you, I might be mildly concerned,” _ the voice stated mockingly. 

“Then where might you be, Thenabar?” Dumbledore asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adeviar’s eyes open wide in realization, before his face set itself into a snarl. “Surely you can’t expect me to believe that you can send thoughts to us kilometers away.”

_ “Me? Probably not. But what I can  _ apparently  _ expect you to do is have that delightful amalgamation tell you what overlords are.” _

“Relays, nodes. Communicators, coordinators,” Adeviar said, before closing his mouth forcefully. 

_ “Huh. You even got some of Abathur’s speech patterns? That’s  _ intriguing.  _ I’m sure he’ll be quite delighted when we finally get you in our grasp, amalgamate. You’ve already been so helpful, being so kind as to visit me and let us extract the recipe for overlords from your flesh. We were cut off from the rest of our kind for so long, they really did make all the difference.” _

“Think you’ll thank me when I burn every last trace of you from the planet?”

_ “Well I didn’t think you were suicidal, but by all means. Your attempts to destroy us will make things much easier for us.”  _ Ethereal laughter rippled through their minds, the same laughter that must have rang out from the zerg just before the attack.

“Is there a point to this, Thenabar?” Dumbledore interrupted. “Is there a point to this conversation, this attack?”

_ “The attack, nothing beyond the obvious. We’d been preparing this for some time, and to be honest it wasn’t quite ready. But when you gave us that opening, I knew I just had to do it. As for this conversation, well...I just want to stress something I’m sure you’ve picked up already. This is not a balanced war, Dumbledore. We know all your tricks, and you barely have the slightest inkling of what we have up our metaphorical sleeves. This is asymmetrical warfare in its purest form, and you are most definitely on the losing side. Simply put, every one of you is going to die, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.” _

“Have you any idea how many times I’ve heard variants of that speech?” Dumbledore asked.

_ “Fair enough. Psychological warfare is a rather recent addition to our armory, we have much to learn. Besides, if you were this easy to crack, I’d have gotten to you last time. Eh, whatever. Unlike you, I have all the time in the world.”  _ With those last words, an inscrutable weight was lifted off of Dumbledore’s mind. Thenabar had left, for lack of a better word.

“We should go,” Adeviar said. He was gripping his arm tightly, claw tips poking into his skin. “There’s nothing left here. Or there won’t be for long. The banelings are burrowed everywhere. They won’t let us go again.”

Dumbledore didn’t offer an argument. They needed to regroup. He gave the remaining wizards the order to retreat before turning on his heel and disappearing from the newly christened graveyard.

**(Transition)**

_ Sentience: You know you have it if, when asked what you are your only reply is, “...I dunno, but I think I exist or...something. Does that count?” _

**Sentience: Intelligence, past a certain point, is a trait whose rewards are more than self-evident. Strategy, problem solving, and ingenuity are all traits which are extremely valuable, especially to the Swarm. But in the early forms of intelligence, in the form of sentience found in species that still climb trees and use sticks, intelligence has only a few benefits: the ability to use tools, to recognize other beings as separate, and to utilize crude forms of language. The zerg need no tools, for their flesh adapts itself to whatever they need. The zerg need no language because they can communicate through thoughts alone. And to recognize other beings as separate would not only be unhelpful, but would actually be harmful to the Swarm, all but shattering the hivemind in its entirety. Aside from the Overmind and necessary specialized intelligences, there is no reason for the Swarm to have an excess of fully sentient individuals. So long as the Overmind is alive, there is no need for such things.**

**And therein lay the problem for the Overmind. His plan necessitated dying to free the Swarm from the grip of Amon and it’s eventual demise at the hands of the hybrid. If the Overmind were to die, the Swarm would be a leaderless, feral pack of angry animals doomed to slowly die out. And thus, the Overmind created the Cerebrates, individual intelligences who could function without him. The intelligence also allowed the Swarm to spread even farther, their split attention freeing the the Overmind to fuel rapid expansion and evolution. When the Overmind eventually died, the Cerebrates and the Queen of Blades rapidly reconsolidated the Swarm, thus proving the wisdom of the Overmind’s decision. Since that time, each brood has its own sentient commander, ready to take charge and evolve should the worst come to pass. Should the leader of the Swarm be slain, the zerg would fracture, but they would not weaken. There are hundreds of individuals lurking in the shadows preparing for the day when they will lead their broods into the stars seeking new essence, and new worlds.**


	51. Collection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Chronic exhaustion is a common result of staying up too late for whatever reason. Stories about bug controlling superheroes are largely irresistible, even to the siren call of slumber. I have made poor decisions lately. Science, however, marches forward. A possible method of treating HIV has once again raced into public consciousness with intriguing potential, and I’ve just completely given up on the pretense that these sections have anything to do with science or the lack thereof in Catalyst. Or my lack of legal ownership. Speaking of which, don’t own it.

Nurmengard had been under siege many times. It was designed for them, designed as an impenetrable fortress, an impenetrable tower that the enemies of the greater good would forever be locked within. Although it now only hosted one man, the enchantments and wards which had earned it the envy and ire of Europe remained as strong as ever. No wizard, no matter how strong, could possibly hope to breach its walls.

Looking at the carpet of hard carapace and spiny limbs arrayed before him, Sasha couldn’t say he was sure that adage would hold up to the Zerg. 

He had heard of these monstrosities, the northern isle’s new mess. Last he’d heard, they were isolated in Britain, safely contained by garrisons of witches and wizards. Clearly, the higher-ups hadn’t seen the need to keep him in the loop. Sasha couldn’t help feeling a tad resentful about that at the moment. He exchanged an anxious glance with the wizards next to him on the fortifications. They looked just as nervous as he felt. They were trained to fight against people, not  _ that.  _ None of them had any idea what to do. But the enemy certainly seemed to.

With a wet squelch  some of the more bulbous creatures launched green eggs through the air, and the eggs landed at the edge of Nurmengard’s wards. Sasha immediately let a series of explosive spells arc out of his wand, joining the crowd of destructive rays heading towards the sacs. The spells connected in a brilliant explosion of light. By the time it cleared, the eggs were gone, a great deal of them smashed and scattered across the ground. But a set of lumbering monsters were already walking through the blast zone toward the wards. With mangled fists, they repeatedly slammed against the shimmering magical barrier, climbing over each other just to get more space to attack. Sasha sent out more spells. Another wave of destruction slammed into the mass, sending bloody limbs flying through the cold air. Sasha couldn’t believe they were still coming, but they were. They just kept hitting and hitting and hitting, acting more like inferi than living creatures. Just then, Sasha caught a glimpse of a face beneath the protruding tentacles.

By Merlin’s beard, the zerg had made their own inferi. How many people were done at that ward, how many homes had they broken into, how many people had they done this too? Sasha tried to count as he launched more spells, but after he reached one hundred, he was feeling too sick to try to continue. 

Another pers-another  _ inferi,  _ slammed its claw into the barrier to no effect. Sasha managed to snipe it with a well placed reducto before his gaze was caught by movement from farther back. Up until this point, Sasha hadn’t seen a single bit of movement from the rest of the zerg forces, who were seemingly content to let their victims do the fighting for them. Now, a group of them with tall rigid bodies, crowned with spikes and a burning pit of liquid, were shifting themselves towards the wards. Sasha had a brief second to wonder what they were doing when arcs of fire shot out of their crowns and arced towards him. He saw the wards flicker into place, anticipating the strikes, before the fire smashed through them in an instant. Sasha was blasted on his rear as the wards collapsed entirely. The bastion had been broken. 

In a mad scramble, he lifted himself up and looked out the window. The inferi were leading the charge into the tower gates, triggering every trap. Explosive traps and invisible slashes cut them down en masse, but they just kept walking forward, leaving the traps drained and empty. Sasha’s eye was caught by another shift from the zerg forces, lifting themselves up and marching straight forward. Sasha resisted the urge to flee as he saw insectoid legs step uncaringly on the dismembered corpses littering the path. Instead, he ran, falling back to the second position with the rest of the guards. He ran to the cell at the peak of the prison, forming a line with the other guards. Nervously, he stood in front of the barred steel door, holding his wand before him as the echoes of carapace impacting stone raced past his ears.

The first zerg rounded the corner, a squat beetle-like thing with its face pressed into its shell like a turtle. It spat a strong stream of acid at the group, just slowly enough that he managed to put up a shield. The liquid splattered out from it, and Sasha could hear a sizzling noise as the acrid scent of melting rock forced itself into his nostrils. The monster let out another more forceful blast, cracking his shield. The rest of the guards put up their own shields, and the next blast only splattered again, carving small pockets in no man’s land. Sasha took the opportunity to launch a blasting curse, and the battle began in earnest. More creatures swarmed in the corridor, again crawling on top of each other in the narrow space. Acid filled the center of the hall, making it all but impossible to move forward, and neither force made any attempt to. What did they hope to accomplish with this? Was it just slaughter for the sake of slaughter, killing for the sake of killing? Sasha couldn’t figure it out until the zerg stop firing and burrowed through the floor, vanishing immediately. They could have done that the entire time? Then why hadn’t they-

With a rapidly sinking feeling in his stomach, Sasha turned around and opened the cell door, just in time to get a glimpse of the zerg vanishing beneath the earth with the prisoner, and just in time for a bolt of acid to carve a hole through his head. 

**(Transition)**

“Ah, Madame Horlacher. Thank you for coming,” the drab Secretary said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Monsieur Secretary,” said Feverème Horlacher, summoning the chair from several feet being her and straightening her formal robes as she sat.  She was pleased to note the little gasp the secretary made at the wandless display. A little reminder of her ability was always helpful before things like this. It set the tone quite nicely. “I imagine you know what I’ve come to discuss.”

“The relocation of our aurors away from your community, yes. I understand you had some complaints,” the government official said. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I simply have some concern for the stability of whoever approved that decision. To utterly remove the auror presence of the most veela populated city in France...” she shook her head, looking down and sighing audibly. “You must see, it is nothing less than insanity. You cannot honestly expect us to deal with such a potentially volatile area without assistance.”

“Surely a witch of your talents would have no trouble settling any disputes, Madame,” the secretary said. That was certainly different, she didn’t remember him being this confident or this snippy the last time she had met him. Then again, she didn’t bother to remember his name either. His like was replaced so often. They tended to blur together. Madame Horlacher leaned forward. 

“Certainly, I can solve any individual dispute, but surely you do not expect me to pick up  _ all  _ of your slack, do you? It is after all your duty to keep the peace,” she retorted, leveling her third best glare towards the bureaucrat. “If you find yourself unable to do so, there will almost certainly be  _ problems. _ ” 

“Madame, I assure you there were good reasons for this transfer.”

“Truly? So far, you have failed to provide a single one,” Madame Horchaver raised a single imperious brow.

“How much do you know about what’s happening in the north?” the secretary asked, leaning forward animatedly. 

“Regrettably little. You have not exactly been forthcoming with the details, Monsieur.”

“A product of stress as much as necessity, I assure you. To make a very long story far too short, there are beasts on that island. Massive, deadly, and numerous beasts, far beyond anything we’ve discovered before. Intelligent too, possibly more than the average mage,” he leaned forward conspiratorially. “There’s even whispers they’ve infiltrated some of our governments. Needless to say, the ICW is eager to remove them.”

“Interesting,” Madame Horchaver said blandly, face plainly indicating that she couldn’t care less. “I assume these beasts have something to do with this more relevant bout of idiocy?”

“Their movements have influenced our decision, yes. There are four reasons we moved the aurors from your town across the sea,” the man said. “First, we are simply in need of more forces, and you had the most convenient contingent available. Second, it gets them out of the hands of potentially compromised members of our own government. Third, it-”

“Sets the stage for calamities within our own borders, causing issues on two fronts. Is that what you were going to say? If not, then you are far more of an idiot than-” Feverème was interrupted when her chair warped beneath her. Tendrils stabbed out, penetrating her hands and legs, binding them to the limbs. Another set wormed their way up her chest and cut through her lips, stitching them together.

The secretary’s face smiled, mouth stretching far wider than it had any right to. “Finally, you shut up. Now don’t interrupt me again,” it said cheerfully. “Now what I was going to say was that the third reason is that it left your quaint little veela flushed town completely vulnerable to my kin’s jaws. And their mandibles, acid, claws, glaives and so forth, but who’s counting? They’re wiping out the last pockets of resistance as we speak.” It glanced at her lips. “Well, as I speak. Thank you again for being so polite.”

Feverème struggled against her bonds, thrashing wildly back and forth, unheeding of the pain where she was stabbed. In a desperate bid, she bid her magic to hurl every loose object in the room at the creature. In response, it sent tendrils out from its skin, wrapping around the projectiles and holding them there with inhuman strength. Feverème desperately forced her makeshift weapons towards it, trying in vain to force it away from her. She needed to get out, she needed to escape. It just sat there with its far too wide grin

“And the final reason was to lure you here. You’re a powerful witch,  _ Feverème _ . Don’t think we don’t appreciate that. We have plans for you, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy them. After all, don’t humans always speak of how rewarding it is to be part of a greater whole? You’ll definitely love it.” Figures melted out of the walls, more disguised bureaucrats, each spilling out of their heading spots like a thick liquid. Their limbs grew out from underneath, and they began to use them, approaching her methodically. All of their faces wore the same identical grin. 

Feverème had had enough. With a rush of power, she pulled the ceiling down onto the monsters, hopefully crushing them. She tried to turn herself to the side and apparate away, taking a stony blow to the shoulder before she could complete the movement.. She popped back into existence back home, leaving bloodstains all over her bedroom. She had left her right arm and leg behind, and the rest of her body was covered in gaping wounds left behind from the tendrils. She didn’t care. With a herculean effort, she lifted herself up on two limbs, and began to crawl outside. Her door had been left ajar and a thick purple goo covered her patio. 

Feverème managed to limp outside. She was greeted with a portrait of hell. The purple goo covered every inch of ground. On top of it crawled grotesque monstrosities, moving around under the gaze of bloated sacks of flesh hovering above. The only saving grace, the only thing that kept her collapsing her then and there, was the lack of corpses. 

That lasted until she saw a line of creatures that looked like odd, giant lobsters carrying pieces of her friends across the street.

Feverème collapsed where she was, letting loose a low keening sound. Everything she had known, everything she had ever fought for, destroyed in a single day. She couldn’t even get up the energy to move as she heard a series of pops ring out from above her, when she heard a voice asking her mocking questions that she couldn’t even try to figure out the meaning of, or when a set of scaled tendrils lifted her off the ground, carried her a distance, and then shoved her into a wet sack alongside someone else.

**(Transition)**

“Will this suffice for ‘essence’?” Voldemort asked, gesturing dramatically to a row of cages dominating the center of the Malfoy’s dining room. They were large and sturdy, enchanted thoroughly enough that even Thenabar could feel the psionic power radiating off of them. But it was the contents that sparked such absolute pleasure in the Evolution Master, or at least the warped version Thenabar felt radiating off him at the moment. An artificial pleasure in a lot of ways, engineered, as basic as the need to feed and respirate. That didn’t make it less intense. Thenabar really couldn’t blame him for it either.

Even he was salivating, looking at the dementor, locked in place and all ready for him to pluck and devour. It was an emotional maelstrom, a shambling, shredding void that Thenabar couldn’t help but lust after. It was like a hole that he had never know he had, and the plug was right in front of him. Surely, Abathur would let him have one or two. There were dozens of the things here, and he understood the urge to evolve as well as anyone. Surely he would be satisfied with that big muzzled disease cat, or that elongated metallic arthropod, or that other feline with the abnormally long abdomen, or the camouflaged prescient ape, or any of the half dozen other creatures besides. This really was a diverse menagerie. If he wasn’t pathologically opposed to humans, he would have called Voldemort’s efforts impressive. 

“Valuable essence. Very useful. Many creations, many possibilities. Must experiment. Much to do,” Abathur wandered towards the cages almost in a trance, limbs stretching themselves forward, grasping.

“I’m curious, Abathur,” Voldemort interrupted. “You have barely any magic, and yet you make things of such beauty.” He gestured towards the zerg soldiers. They were about half of Voldemort’s number now, their sleek carapace moving smoothly under black silk. At a thought from him or the Evolution Master, they would tear everything in this room to bloody ribbons. It was all Thenabar could do to keep the smile off his face. “Do indulge my curiosity, won’t you?”

Thenabar molded his gaze over Voldemort’s face, watching his still open eyes, slightly flared nostrils. He wanted to figure out precisely what they were doing, that much was obvious. Was he irked at the lack of knowledge, eager for a chance to get this power himself? He had refused any modifications on his own body, for all that he had eagerly offered up his underlings. It had gotten to the point where he hadn’t even commented on Luna’s influx of recruits. 

Voldemort didn’t trust them at all did he? He wanted to mutate his forces all by himself, remove the middleman. Well he should have thought of that before he provided them with a legion of magical cannon fodder. To be fair, Voldemort had fulfilled his end of the bargain. There was no reason to decline his request. Thenabar was sure Abathur would be absolutely pleased to show Voldemort his work first hand. Abathur combed over Thenabar’s mind, picking over his reasoning and conclusion. 

Abathur was silent for a moment, then spoke. “Acceptable. Bargain fulfilled. Simple to adjust.” With that, he moved past the thugs and thrust his limbs into the giant disease spewing feline, scattering the blood across and offering ample access to its innards, which he began to eagerly devour. The remaining human minions flinched back as the evolution master carved out his bloody niche, spattering the red liquid wide and far, a bit even making its way onto Voldemort’s skin. The Dark Lord didn’t seem to notice or care. Well, his funeral. 

Thenabar on the other hand, released his loose grip on his humanoid form, letting black tendrils lash into the cages of one of the dementor’s pulling it’s struggling form into his now toothed torso. It was every bit as delectable as he thought it would be. 

**(Transition)**

“Mutant wizard terrorists, entire towns vanishing, super aliens, and giant purple patches of God knows what that are visible from fucking satellites! Clearly this is a problem beyond your capacity to contain. Please, tell me why our governments shouldn’t send in our forces right now!” the Prime Minister set down his papers and glared at Shacklebolt. “I would  _ really _ like to know.”

Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed. This was going to be a long conversation.

**(Transition)**

_ Hey, he put in his own transition this time. He’s learning! ~f _

**Larval Development: It’s no secret that the larva are the way that every single strain starts its life in the Swarm. From the towering brutalisk to the submerged lurker, all zerg start as a single creature of near-infinite variety. The larva’s adult form is chosen by a careful combination of chemical and psionic signals, sent through both creep and nearby overlords. The signal from the overlords serves to excite portions of the larva’s brain, causing it to form a cocoon and float freely in an enzyme-filled nutrient broth. The enzymes within the broth break down the extremely durable outer shell, dissolving it into raw material for later use. The cocoon is then infused with a chemical cocktail, taken from specialized structures such as evolution chambers, spawning pools, hydralisk dens, or ultralisk caverns. The specific signals produced en masse by these structures trigger specific genes, shaping the development of the larva in much the same way that genes are triggered in more conventional embryonic development. As the larva develops and grows according to the chemical signals, all the code for other strains is purged, in order to increase the speed of cell replication and prevent the harvest of the complete genome of the Swarm from the corpse of combat strains. This deletion of sequences is only suppressed in the drone, which is itself another basis for the Swarm. Some sequences are preserved in the cases of strains which can later metamorphize, such as zerglings or corruptors, but the vast majority are simply annihilated. In a matter of minutes, the larva grows into the desired form, bursting from the cocoon ready to take their place in the greater Swarm.**

 


	52. Moves and Countermoves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: So bit of advice if you want to go to Potter World and buy a wand: don’t. They’re like $3 on eBay. Save yourself a lot of time and a lot of money and just get one online if you really want it. There is literally no reason for you to buy a large piece of plastic for anything over that amount. That’s just basic economic science. Which I don’t use anywhere in this fic. At any point. Also, don’t own it.
> 
> _You bought a wand at Harry Potter World before finding out this tidbit, didn’t you? ~f_
> 
> **(...no)**

Luna cheerfully raised her fist to knock on the next door, rapping on the wooden frame twice and ignoring the fire that attempted to engulf her arm. The humans she had been visiting had gotten much more paranoid over the last few weeks, but she knew they were just trying to protect themselves against everything else. It was one of the reasons she was doing this in the first place, in order to make sure they never had to worry about their safety again.

Despite her knocking, nobody came to the door. That was a tad rude. Still, Luna wouldn’t let it dissuade her. The Swarm needed humans just as much as they needed her. A silly little ward wouldn’t stop her from making sure everyone got what they needed. Luna reached for the door again, grasping the handle. A mass of projectiles rose from the yard, launching themselves towards her back. Luna’s tentacles waved, trapping the projectiles in a rough arc. She pushed open the door. A man was standing on the other side, grisled and scarred, missing a leg and with what looked to be an artificial eye, darting madly across his face. The poor man, it was so sad to see how the humans struggled without their benefits.

“Hello, I’m-” Luna barely got the first couple words out before the man’s wand was blazing, launching off spells left and right. Luna dodged, sighing. This wasn’t the first one she’d encountered that refused to listen. With a practiced mind, she dangled the loose wisps of the hivemind into a single point, and directed it towards his gnarled skull. He stopped struggling for a moment, and Luna sat back in order to let him grow accustomed to his new perspective. They were always so understanding after they finished. Luna contented herself to sit back and watch the...mind...work. That was odd. Why were those wisps straining so much? Before she could inspect them closer, the threads burst apart, leaving the human unconstrained. 

“Think I can’t handle the Imperius?” he spat out in a furious tone. “Who the hell do you think you’re dealing with girl?” His wand swung around, spitting out spells at a furious rate. Luna leaped away. 

“Why didn’t you listen?” Luna demanded, landing on the grass with her limbs splayed out like an octopus. “Everyone else has listened when I let them hear. Why are you so afraid?”

“Are you daft?” the disfigured man asked. Wait, wasn’t he her Defense professor from a couple years? What was his name? Mattie? That didn’t sound right, but close enough. It was hard to remember a name while trying to dodge near-constant beams of magic. 

“Don’t be rude, Mattie,” Luna chided him. Mattie just looked at her, head tilted while he continued his arcane barrage, but whether it was due to the extensive scarring or simply the ravages of age, Luna found fairly simple to leap around and under the beams of light. The poor man, he had so much that the zerg could fix for him, and he still didn’t listen. Maybe she should try again The spells were becoming easier to dodge, so Luna attempted to gather the wisps again. She had to stand still in the grassy blades for a moment to focus, but that wasn’t even a bother. It was almost like he wasn’t aiming for her at all. Then her tentacles were flayed by the massive explosion behind her. She fell forward.

“If you think people under mind control listen to you on their own, then calling you daft is like calling a wand wooden. Not rude at all,” Mattie said as he advanced towards her, whipping his wand around in a longer and presumably more powerful spell. Luna struggled to lift herself, flesh knitting itself together behind her, not quick enough. Her legs and the stumps of her tentacles pushed desperately against the ground, to no avail. The man’s scarred lips let out a snort. “Least that explains all the disappearances. Almost disappointing, girl. I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

Luna’s mind raced as she lifted herself off the ground as best she could, scrambling backwards on her stumps. He was going to kill her. What did he mean, mind control? She was going to die. They weren’t controlled at all, they just chose to join. This was the end. Just like she did, they listened and joined. Right? Of course. Of course they did. She just didn’t have any time to think about that right now. Mattie was waving his wand with a distinct sense of finality.

But then Mattie’s face shot up, eyes catching on something above Luna. He lifted his wand, cursing, but he didn’t have the time before a humanoid form rammed into him, pushing him away from Luna. Luna used the break to focus her power, lifting herself off the ground while her limbs regenerated. She lifted her head, taking a look at her savior. 

A human form was crouched over Mattie, striking at him with the savagery and unrestrained brutality of a wild animal. It only took a few seconds for Mattie to blast it off, but it landed upright behind Luna, revealing a disturbingly familiar face. It was a human, one she had convinced to join just a few hours ago. Her calm face was twisted savagely, at least what little of it Luna had time to see before she leaped past her queen back towards Mattie. 

_ “What are you doing? Move! Move, or the wizard will be the least of your worries!”  _ Thenabar’s voice rang out in her head. Urgency was forced into her mind, and before she realized it, her regrown legs were moving, forcing her away from the convert. She ran through the residential neighborhood, dashing past the manicured lawns hopefully too fast for any of the muggles to see her.

“What about...” Luna struggled to recall the name. “The person fighting the wizard?”

_ “That thing? It’ll be fine, you just need to get away,”  _ Thenabar responded dismissively.  _ “Heads up, Nydus.” _

“A Nydus? Here? I thought we were trying to stay hidden,” Luna asked as she ran.

_ “Did you not see-of course you didn’t. Sometime, we need to finish that metamorphosis you so rudely interrupted. Let’s just say it’s a bit too late to worry about subtlety.” _

As if on cue, Luna heard a loud crack. A small object flew past her cheek. 

_ “Overseer saw that come from the west. Should be able to get some zerglings there. Move a couple meters to the left.” _

Luna leaped away just in time to avoid the debris scattered from the mouth of the worm emerging from the center of the street. She looked at the open mouth and hesitated, looking back towards where she had ran from. The worm waited, gaping.

_ “Get in Luna, you have to go,”  _ Thenabar demanded, his thought punctuated by more small objects ricocheting off the worm’s carapace, drawing blood. 

“What about our kin?”

_ “Forget about it. Let the thing do its job so you can get out before you’re shot to death!”  _ Another impact came, mere inches from Luna’s face. With a last forlorn glance, she leaped head first into the worm, letting it’s muscles pull her deep into the ground.  _ “Thank you. Seriously, you cut that close. I think the muggles might have been bringing in artillery.”  _

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore was almost certainly going to lose this battle. The zerg surging out of the deep recesses of the Forbidden Forest were replacing every creature that fell. It was a simple fact that dozens of wizards, even backed up by the flaming wraiths of Adeviar’s Fiendfyre, weren’t going to stop thousands of rampaging predators who cared as much for their own life as their enemies did.

The wizards stood in the opening of a raised funnel of earth, grouping the zerg together into an easily curseable cluster. Despite that, the loathsome creatures were scrambling over themselves, forming a continuous wave of claws and fangs, erupting with screeches and blood. Another spurt of the Fiendfyre rushed into the wall, sending the scent of burning flesh billowing through the houses and streets of the once peaceful town. Long since evacuated by its residents thankfully, but Dumbledore didn’t dare suggest letting them have it. Every lost patch of ground was another the zerg could use to breed. Thenabar’s vision and Adeviar’s increasingly frequent insights confirmed that. Dumbledore would make them pay for every last inch of ground they took. At least, that’s what he was thinking before the zerg’s rampage towards Hogsmeade came to a sudden halt. 

The low rumbling sound of burning missile fuel rang through the air as a series of silver jets flew through the blue sky. Explosions burst out across the zerg frontline, scattering blood and chitin across the ground. Hydralisks reared up on their tail, spikes glistening from their crest, but the terran fighters didn’t stick around, flying off in a cloud of vapor. 

The Swarm reacted immediately, spreading its mass across the uneven terrain like liquid across paper, limiting the costs of another attack. The hydras were ready this time, and unleashed their spines in the same moment the planes released their missiles. More explosions spread fire over the battlefield, this time both in the air and the ground. Two planes fell from the formation, crashing into the grass, where the pilots’ remains were immediately torn apart by zerglings. The swarming predators made a tempting target, immediately taken advantage of by the tanks, rolling in with smoking barrels. The roaches immediately made their way to the front, only to have to stop, bracing themselves against the hail of bullets striking their armor, before a second tank blast forced them to scatter just in time for another bombing run, carving scores in their rank.

Dumbledore could hardly believe his eyes. Muggle machines were fighting the zerg head on, and more than that, they were keeping up with them, tearing great chunks through the massed alien creatures. Even without magic, the muggles were tearing through the Swarm like a scythe across wheat.

The Swarm moved in chaotic swirls, apparently trying to reorient themselves. Adeviar didn’t give them that chance, using the muggles temporary reprieve to focus entirely on the Fiendfyre, letting it flash into a clawed pillar of fire, burning rapidly through the massed zerg. The moment the flame gained purchase on their insectoid forms, they went up like a bonfire. 

Before Dumbledore could process everything, the zerg were no more. He stood in front of a field of scorched earth, filled with scattered craters and metal debris. Across it, Dumbledore saw a man walking across in formal muggle military wear, escorted by several others in significantly less ornate clothes. Dumbledore, still pumped high with adrenaline, watched their approach warily. If the muggles were actually sending one to meet with them, then this probably wouldn’t be a one time thing. They would want to talk, to discuss. And if they had taken notice...despite the heat of the still present Fiendfyre, his blood chilled. This war was about to escalate. By his side, Adeviar growled. The rest glanced at each other warily, not sure what to do. Dumbledore wasn’t sure either. This was entirely unprecedented. 

The muggle had reached him, and raised up a hand in salute. His escorts followed suit, before they all lowered their hands. The decorated man opened his mouth “Chief Warlock? My name is Major Whitehall of the British Army. I’ve been sent to assist and coordinate-”

“You shouldn’t be interfering,” Adeviar cut him off. “You shouldn’t be here, not now.”

“Well I’m afraid that decision is well above my paygrade,” Major Whitehall responded, looking remarkably nonplussed despite standing in front of titanic flaming monstrosities. Adeviar must have been quite stressed, the poor man. The constructs barely looked like real creatures at this point. 

“My apologies Major, but I was unaware that the muggle government had decided to lend their aid at this point, or that our Minister had requested it at all.”

“He hasn’t. My superiors are of the opinion that dealing with sudden global alien threats superseded any past treaties. They also wished me to advise you that other countries will likely decide to get involved as well.”

Dumbledore could only stand there, gobsmacked. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the ramifications this would cause, both political and military. He also couldn’t imagine that he would have time to figure them out. However much he might be reluctant to throw outside centuries of careful separation, muggle aid might just be what they needed to avoid that harrowing vision pulled from Thenabar’s alien mind. 

“Well, regardless of the circumstances, I suppose I must offer my gratitude to you and your government Major Whitehall, both for the help now and for what may be soon to come. Please, I’m sure we have much to discuss. Let’s go see if Rosmerta has any stock left. Adeviar, if you would?”

With a glowing yellow glare both incredulous and furious, Adeviar snuffed out the Fiendfyre before turning to walk with the odd group. Dumbledore wasn’t sure what his issue was, but he only hoped he could deal with it on his own. Merlin knew that Dumbledore wouldn’t have time for such personal matters in the near future. 

**(Transition)**

No, no, no, no,  _ no! _ The non-psionics were separate from the psionics, they ignored each other, every single one of the psionics minds had confirmed it. It was ingrained so deeply, so fundamentally into every aspect of their psyche. What had changed? Why were the non-psionics interfering  _ now? _ What could possibly...? Oh. Right. 

Abathur was being an idiot. With a forceful rush of hormones, he calmed himself. There were times to allow for anger, but not when he was the highest authority on the planet. He couldn’t afford excess emotion. He stiffly retracted his limbs. The cocoons damaged by his tantrum repaired themselves as he gathered his thoughts. It was obvious why they were interfering. 

It was his own fault.

Abathur had barely focused on stealth, assuming the association with Voldemort and his established threat would shield them from greater scrutiny, and then he’d sent his brood all over the continent to gather essence and ingredients. He hadn’t committed to stealth, and hadn’t committed to a full assault. Of course the terrans had taken notice, and now he had to rapidly adapt to a completely different style of war. If he wasn’t consumed by suppressed incandescent rage, he would be extraordinarily pleased.

If stealth was no longer an option, then he was free to attack as he pleased. No more restraint. 

Abathur slithered out of his chamber, making his way directly towards Voldemort, location gleaned from the eyes of his thralls. He released his tight hold over the creep, letting it spread over and consume the pristine decorations. It wouldn’t take long to consume the whole structure. A few humans observed his advance. Abathur seized control of his scattered thralls, forcing them to apparate to the observers, puppeteering their limbs, slashing precisely at the base of the spine. The humans fell without a word into the rampaging creep, which swelled over them to form cocoons. The flood of creep forced the doors into Voldemort’s meeting room wide open, leaving the path clear for Abathur to slide through them. 

“What are you doing outside of your chambers, demon?” Voldemort demanded coolly. 

“Conflict escalated. Use of Voldemort organism ended. Distraction removal, more valuable,” Abathur calmly explained, giving the psionics time to finish their metamorphosis. And to see how the rather odd biology of the semi-terran reacted. He had to so little opportunity to experiment on new subjects these days. He was loathe to pass up any opportunity.

Voldemort didn’t move, apparently content to stay in a suboptimal position in face of a threat. Abathur imagined it was a form of dominance, but he didn’t really care enough to call Thenabar over to confirm it. The experiment was busy enough as it was. Instead, he gestured towards several other wizards, who immediately raised their wands towards Abathur. He supposed that was intended to be a threat. How, he had no idea. When the zerg didn’t depart their chambers, the wizards began swirling their wands, reciting the various pneumonic devices that so crippled them. Abathur considered letting them finish, before dismissing the idea. His forces moved. 

With a series of wet crunches, his infested psionics warped behind the wizards, surgically removing the spinal connections once more. The creep swept over the paralyzed terrans, encapsulating them. In a synchronized forces, the infested turned to face Voldemort, tentacles flailing along their body. The creep moved over the floor, racing under chairs and towards the Dark Lord’s feet. Voldemort let out a wave of heat from his wand, but the creep ignored it, continuing its march unabated. He tried again, with what looked to be acid this time, but was met with the same indifference. Voldemort took a step back. 

“Do you really think you can defeat me, beast?” he said in a calm tone. Abathur noted his eyes rapidly darting across the cocoons. 

“Unnecessary. Assimilation, preferred outcome,” Abathur explained. Voldemort responded with a large violet blast, launching the entirety of the room’s contents at Abathur. The Evolution Master’s thralls raised shields in unison, creating a massive wall in front of Abathur. The furniture shattered against the psionic barrier, but Voldemort was already moving. A trio of green lights slashed through the air while Voldemort’s wand danced, raising stone walls around his zerg opponent, preventing escape. Abathur warped in one of his soldiers in front of each beam, watching dispassionately as they began to topple forward, lifeless. With a rush of energy, Abathur raised each of the dead, transforming their topples into lunges. 

Voldemort grew three more spiked pillars, impaling the charging zerg and stopping them in their tracks. With a few swishes of his bone white wand, he pulled more spikes out of the walls. The points raced towards Abathur’s creations. Abathur ordered them to blast the spikes apart, filling the room with dust.

It was every bit the fight Abathur had expected. Voldemort was more than a viable option for the amalgam, he was an excellent one. Abathur burst out of the ground and released a simple pheromone. With the air whipping around as it was, it didn’t take long for it to make its way to Voldemort. Abathur’s thralls cleared the air. 

Voldemort lay on the ground, thrashing as the bloodborne pathogen Abathur had infected him with ravaged his body.

Abathur used the infested to throw the dark lord’s body in the cocoon with the other two. That project could gestate on its own for a while. He had information to gather. He had relied on secondhand reports for the non-psionics for too long. Umbridge’s memories had implied that they had little more than simple firearms in terms of weaponry, and the terrans on the battlefield clearly displayed far more technological advancement than that. He needed a more reliable source. 

Once his thralls had cleared the debris out of the room, Abathur settled down and shifted his focus to his southern infiltrators. A couple of them were walking around non-psionic residences, going through the motions necessary to keep their cover. He briefly considered whether it was worth maintaining, but no. The psionics and non-psionics were both aware of him now, and retaining a few minor sources of information wasn’t worth the time it would take to be subtle. Abathur’s infiltrators cast off their humanoid shells and extending sharp tendrils into the minds of the nearby non-psionics, ignoring the eruption of screams.

It took but a moment to sort through their minds, gleaning info that caused him to recoil in shock. Umbridge had been grossly mistaken. These terrans were advanced, capable. They might not be able to traverse the void, but they could watch him from above, they could fly across the globe with impunity,  _ they had enough nuclear weapons to render every zerg on this planet into a radioactive ash stain ten times over. _

Why in the Overmind’s name was Abathur still alive?

The morphalisks veins pulsed as Abathur intensified his search, tearing through the terrans’ minds, desperate for an answer. He would probably have to find it quick, before their minds shut down entirely from the shock. They really were so fragile. 

Oh. Of course they were. Terrans were so fragile that even the aftermath of a nuclear blast could kill them, and unlike the ones he was used to fighting, these little irritants had nowhere else to flee too. They wouldn’t use nuclear tools unless they had no other choice, would they? How convenient. He could just rampage over the planet, and by the time they overcame their fear it would be too late. 

The morphalisks retracted their tendrils and fled. Abathur scattered his attention across the globe, seeing through the eyes of his overseers. The next step should be quite simple, but it would be far easier in the right location. Now, where  _ did  _ the terrans decide to put their highest density habitats?

It really was so liberating to not have to hold back.

**Stressors: The Swarm seeks to evolve. This is a fact, a fundamental truth, such an integral part of the zerg’s nature that to strip it away would leave them with next to  nothing. Every second the zerg live, they evolve. To this end, the zerg put themselves in the absolute harshest environment at all opportunities. They don’t settle peaceful garden worlds filled with lush plants and scenario. The zerg inhabit the extremes, from worlds covered in toxic clouds and flowing lava, to worlds so far removed from starlight that the entire planet is coated in a thick sheet of ice. All of these extremes drive evolution and force the zerg to adapt. These stressors reveal flaws inherent in the zerg, and where there are flaws, there is potential for growth. Every challenge just makes the Swarm that much more monstrous.**

_ Basically, they’re crazy masochists that think that pain and adversity make them stronger. Except, because they’re supposed to be cool enough that player want to be them, they’re not played off as crazy, and they’re actually kind of right, instead of certifiable. _

_ ~f _


	53. Advent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Fuck it, skipping this, going straight to writing. Too much stuff to worry about this bit of fluff. Don’t own it. 
> 
> _He skipped the “Also,” in “Also, don’t own it.” That’s how you know shit is getting serious. ~f_

 

 

Dumbledore clicked his wand against his pensive, the sudden disappearance of the zerg covered planet casting a silence over the windowless room. No one was making so much as a peep. Well, aside from Adeviar’s labored breathing. The poor man’s scars always flared up after looking at this. He was shaking, holding himself still even as his yellow eyes flared with focus. 

Dumbledore returned his attention to the assembled muggle leaders. To his pleasant surprise, they were already turning to their attendants and peers, discussing, looking through what  few documents had been prepared.

“What methods have you been using to fight them up until this point?” The question rang out into the chamber, Dumbledore wasn’t sure where from.

“Our more destructive magics have been shown to work, although we lack many who can use them reliably,” Dumbledore responded. “Heavier muggle weaponry has also proven effective, but I will defer to my muggle counterparts there.”

The doors burst open to let a man come through, running and breathing heavily. He sprinted to the desk of one of the muggle governments, China if he was remembering his flags correctly. He leaned over and haltingly whispered in the ear of the man sitting there. 

“What rate have the zerg been spreading at Chief...Warlock?” said the person Dumbledore believed to be Australia’s Prime Minister, setting aside the mess of papers at his desk.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t quite tell you. Scouting on the zerg has been a dangerous exercise. They seem to have taken control of a number of dragons with which they defend their nests vigilantly, and some of their creatures even seem able to see through disillusionment charms and invisibility cloaks. Your own flying cameras seem to have a better view-” Dumbledore stopped speaking as he noticed the Chinese leader stand up and begin to talk in a language he couldn’t follow, but Dumbledore still found notes of what sounded like distress in his tone. His mind went wild with possibilities, whirling even as the quill on his desk scratched out the translation. He stopped after the first sentence, however, and had to re-read it just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

_ The zerg have invaded our coast. _

**(Transition)**

Despite the comforting layer of creep, Luna couldn’t help but shift around nervously in the once ornate armchair. Thoughts kept bouncing around in her head like a puffskein in a crowd of children. She didn’t know why. She had a lovely view of the former Malfoy manor, with all the pretty little curling spines and the shimmering threads of the weavers’ threads arcing over the grounds. The shaky first steps of the wards’ emerging consciousness were providing a delightful tickle at the back of her mind. It was lovely, a microcosm of everything Luna had expected when she made the choice to join the Swarm. 

Unfortunately, the beautiful scene just wasn’t doing anything for her. The whole scene felt paper thin, like it could rip away at any second, as though a splash of water would wash away all of the scene’s vibrant color. That was it! It was like those puzzles in the Quibbler. It was fun, even entertaining, but ultimately it was just a bunch of patterns on a flimsy piece of paper which couldn’t do much more than wrap around the solid brick currently occupying the center of her mind. 

Was she doing the right thing?

She thought that she was, she had been so certain. Everyone had seemed so happy, so eager to join once she had brought them in and showed them a glimpse. No one had said no before. No one had said they didn’t want to join the swarm, no one at all. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen many of them say anything at all after they got back to Abathur for the full induction. Luna was so busy recruiting more that she’d never had an opportunity to talk to them afterwards. 

Luna brightened up, using her tentacles to fling herself out of her chair. That was it! She just had to go and talk to some of them, that would clear everything right up! The world outside took on a nice shiny coat of paint as she skipped out of the room and towards the more industrious sections of the new hive, pushing open the manor doors and heading outdoors

The whole thing really was progressing quite quickly. There were more overlords than clouds in a storm, zerglings were running across the landscape like the hyperactive puppies they were, and Luna couldn’t spot an inch of ground that wasn’t covered with the mesmerizing patterns of squirming creep. It was a shame about all the grass and trees it was consuming, but the Swarm had to grow somehow. Right? 

That little thought wriggling in the back of her mind, Luna quickly realized that she had absolutely no idea where any of her converts were. She had just turned them over to Abathur and gone on to the next set in the morning. There didn’t seem to be any just running around, not that she could see anyway. Well, it couldn’t be that hard. They had...they  _ had  _ to be around somewhere. 

With mild trepidation, Luna stretched out her mind, looking through the blinding array of strands and glows that made up the zerg hivemind, combing over the little dull lights of the lesser strains for anything more, anything brighter. She followed the winding threads of the overlords, the paths mirroring their dangling tendrils. Luna found nothing. 

No, no that was fine. She just had to look farther. Just had to look farther, look deeper, and suddenly, she ‘saw’ something! Deep in the remnants of the mansion, a bunch of lights, a bundle of minds. They were stretched together rather oddly, but that was fine, they were all decidedly, unmistakably human. In a wave of elation and relief Luna pulled closer and closer and-

“You know, it makes the rest of us a bit nervous when you do that,” Thenabar’s voice said immediately next to her ear. Luna’s mind snapped back into her body and she whirled around. “That too, come to think of it.”

“Thenabar, where have you...been?” Luna’s question trailed off as she got a good look at his form. It was his normal human guise, but...weird. His skin looked like it was wrapped around a ball of crumpled parchment in the shape of a person, jagged, angled, and just on the verge of tearing. He looked at her in calm confusion, before her features abruptly shifted to bemusement. 

“Oh, don’t worry about this, it’s just mild indigestion. Dementors simply don’t know when to  _ quit,  _ the little ingrates.” This last part was directed towards a particularly thick crack on his skin. Luna could have sworn she saw it writhe. “But it’ll be worth it in the end. Anyway, I’ve been around. Grabbing a couple snacks, working them down. I haven’t really been that presentable lately. But nevermind that, what were you doing?” 

“I was just looking for all the humans,” Luna protested her innocence, not entirely sure why she felt she needed to. 

“For whatever reason? Not that it matters, the Evolution Master took all the ones that were left here a while ago, but I’m just...curious is the word, I think,” Thenabar said, leaning in, head cocking with an odd crackle. “It’s a relatively novel thing, would you mind indulging it?”

Luna hesitated, but relented. It was Thenabar! If she couldn’t be straightforward with him, who could she be upfront with? “I just wanted to make sure that they were okay. I haven’t seen any of them since I went around the first time, and, well...”

“You were worried?” Thenabar asked, kind of like McGonagall when examining a partially transfigured tea set. “That’s nice of you, but you don’t need to worry.”

“Really?” Luna asked in relief.

“Of course!” Thenabar said, arms spreading magnanimously, haltingly. “ I promise you, they’re exactly like they were the day you met them. If anything, they’re doing better. Abathur’s having them help with his latest project since you were so busy recently.”

“That’s great! They must be having so much fun” Luna loved Abathur’s projects, he always made the most adorable things, and the zerg always felt so much happier once he stopped working on them. “Tell me, do you know what he’s doing right now?”

“Oh who knows?” Thenabar shrugged abruptly. “Knowing him though, I bet it’s something absolutely delightful.”

**(Transition)**

Everywhere but the oceans. It was one of the first things Abathur had noticed when looking for his target. Humans were all over the planet. It was an infestation really, a slow spread of useless vermin in every conceivable corner. They had even made little incursions to the very edges of the sphere! Humans couldn’t live in those temperatures! He had checked. He had checked! And yet, there they were, sitting on top of ice floes that wouldn’t look out of place on Kaldir. 

But not in the ocean. The humans were near it certainly, there was hardly an inch of coast they hadn’t run over. But not under the waves, not where there was so much space, so much biomass. No more need to hide, no more need to stunt the growth of the Swarm, and so so much freedom. And Abathur had made use of it. 

He had expected resistance, anything really. But the humans had nothing to impede his forces’ march on the ocean bed and right into their massive population center. Abathur was almost disappointed. He had wanted to test out the krakens so badly. Still, there would be other opportunities, and the Evolution Master would not delay his campaign until the humans got their act together. 

Abathur refused to wait centuries. He refused to wait even another day.

The zerglings and banelings went first, as they were made to do. The overlords’ eyes captured a magnificent view of the squirming wave as it scythed through the silver towers, filling the empty spaces in an unbroken flow of claws punctuated by the occasional eruption of acid. Roaches and ravagers broke apart the few fragments of human resistance that had lasted more than a few minutes.

Once the streets had been cleared, and enough of the resistance had been wiped out, Abathur moved himself out of the murky depths and into the shadows of the human habitats. It almost made him nostalgic, being here, surrounded by all the biomass he ever needed, if only he got rid of the little metal shells in the way first. It’s not like there was anything else of value here. 

Abathur found the magic humans and pulled on their strings, pulling them to him. The sound of sharp cracks rang out around him, their crafted forms covering the concrete surface. Abathur looked them over. He hadn’t seemed to have lost any yet. In any case, there were more than enough for the next step. 

The Evolution Master clasped his four hands together, feeding a steady stream of his power into the temporary seal. A gush of fluid and essence followed, growing into a larva, a creature with a strain of zerg yet to be born on this planet. Abathur had been pleased when his younger counterpart had finally gotten around to acquiring it, a weapon so specifically designed for situations like these. 

The infestor larva was passed on to one of the humans, who popped away while Abathur was preparing the next larva. A few hundred should do. He would never be able to make enough infestors for every human, but then again, he didn’t have to. Humans didn’t fight, or at least, not enough of them did. When things became difficult, they hid, huddled in place, not even putting up a pretense of resistance. Abathur hated it, but he could still use it. Humans had so many flaws, which left so much potential for abuse.

It took hours to create enough infestors. It took minutes for the wizards for the wizards to distribute them. Abathur oversaw each infestor, directed them to plant the cancerous seed that would grow into the massive girth of the virophages, watched as the seed latched on to everything in sight, drawing it into its mass until it grew higher. More hours for those virophages to begin to crawl their way over the human skyline and spew their vicious viruses over the steel structures. Abathur wasn’t sure how long it would take to overwhelm the rest of the continent, but considering the sheer numbers pouring out into the streets, he couldn’t imagine it would take long. In the meantime, he would just have to enjoy the familiar sight. He really did love the virophage template, the stout bodies narrowing to a green open maw, crowned with pointed mandibles, ready and glistening with bile to spew across the void of space, into enemy forces, or just over masses of cowering humans. They really were quite versatile. 

**(Transition)**

“Virophages, plague spreaders. Limited use, mass infestation,” Adeviar spoke haltingly, like some force inside compelled him to speak. That had to be the only reason. Dumbledore couldn’t imagine anyone being able to form words of their own accord after looking at this. For once, he was glad that muggle pictures didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he would be able to look at all of these malformed, twisted bodies otherwise. 

Dumbledore spared a glance at Adeviar’s bandages. It was no wonder that the man, fought so viciously against the zerg, if that was what they had done to him. 

Desperately, Dumbledore tried to rationalize what Abathur was doing, wracking his mind for any rhyme or reason behind this attack. Was the coast of China important? Was there anything of particular value to the creatures, any strategic importance. It was a capital city, but there were dozens of other capital cities along coastlines that they could have attacked, some much closer to Britain. Dumbledore turned to the list of cities so far affected by the invasion. His eyes stuck on a set of numbers.

Their populations were all in the millions. 

Abathur wasn’t thinking strategically. He was thinking in terms of slaughter, of how he could kill and...turn...the most people in the least amount of time. Dear Merlin, what had he done? What more tragedy and ruin could come from this?

**(Transition)**

Daggoth was created to be aware of the subtle signals indicating his arrival in a star system. A small change in temperature, but one his skins were made to feel. A minute pinprick of light, just that bit lighter, yet a distortion his eyes could see clearly. The path of the asteroids before him, just slightly curved, warped by gravity enough that he could see their orbit, the wide path they took around this small yellow star. For a moment, Daggoth considered unleashing his mouths on the rocky specs, but turned away, stomachs growling. The Sol system was rich enough. There would be more to feed on. All the planets with food were further towards the star, and while that may have been a long journey, it was far shorter than the one he had just completed. Already, the overlords bearing his eyes could see larger planets, ringed and rocky, wet and red. He knew the wet one would be where his flesh would spread, but that didn’t mean that Daggoth couldn’t feed elsewhere. The Evolution Master had recommended the moon of one of the gas giants, advice he would not take lightly. The long journey had hungered him. He would travel there, spread his claws and fangs to eat, and then he would fly onwards to the blue sphere, much closer to the bright light.

Daggoth shifted his weight, three gargantuan bodies aligning along one path, his million other bodies shifting in their sacs. The queens he would wake first. He would let them gather their minds within his flesh and begin curating the rest of his mass, before they took it for themselves. He had much to do. They had much to do. The Swarm had spread on that sphere, but only partially, and its control was still tenuous. Daggoth would feed quickly. He would need speed and strength in equal measures to pick up the erstwhile Abathur.

_ (He’s still not putting transitions at the end. I can’t for the life of me figure out why.) _

_ Natural Tools: The Zerg have the best “tools” in the business.  _ _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ~f _

**Natural Tools: It is a well known fact that zerg, even without the advantage of heavy metals and mechanised industry, can tear through even the most advanced of armors. Even nanosteel and plasma shielding are no match for their claws and spines. In addition, their own armor can momentarily resist truly massive bursts of energy, such as those from a void ray or yamato cannon. This of course begs the question of how living material can stand up to the engineering prowess culminated over centuries or millennia of industry. The answer is that the zerg have engineered tools of their own, using their own unique methods. Unlike regular living creatures, the zerg don’t have to rely on natural processes and random chance to improve themselves, and much as the terrans and protoss have learned about the zerg, the zerg have learned from them and every other species they’ve encountered over the millennia. Their armor is formed of dense and adeptly woven material, either too complex, too regular, or too dense for typical organic systems to work with. Their outer shells are as hard or harder than terran neo-steel, and reinforced with flexible layers of flabby insulated flesh to soak up the impact. These layers let the tissue adapt and mold itself to whatever shape is necessary to better protect, even if that shape is the result of half of a limb tearing off. Their weapons are similarly treated, formed along a monomolecular edge, designed to pierce through anything and everything, and often propelled by explosive reactions or a well crafted array of dozens of separate muscles which mimic and often surpass industrial propulsion methods. Whether it be with their needle sharp spines, their cushioned armor, or their tearing talons, the zerg are well equipped for every fight.**


	54. War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: You know, I didn’t expect to have to keep doing all of these gags for this long, and I realize now that they’re kind of limited just by their nature. So I’m going to go out on a limb and say that this is a poor way to test the elasticity and resilience of the tree branch since it puts me in a dangerous situation with dubious measurements and a high risk of bone fracture. Also, don’t own it.
> 
>  
> 
> _Well, he finally admitted that his jokes are stupid. My work here is done. ~f_

Austin inhaled deeply, sucking the nicotine laced smoke deeper into his lungs. One advantage to being hastily deployed halfway across the world was the fact that his superiors were just as thrown off as him, and hadn’t bothered to check his packs. Hell, he was pretty sure they’d taken advantage of the situation just like he had. It would be just like the bastards, enjoying a good smoke while the rest of the rank and file was stuck in these damn trenches.

He took the rolled paper out of his mouth and dared a glance over the top of the ditch. It was weird how much the scene matched those old war movies, right down to the miserable grey sky and squelching mud. Of course, he didn’t remember seeing mountains in those movies, but what did he know. It wasn’t like he was a film buff. 

Then again, he couldn’t remember any movies where one side occupied several trenches while the other was covered with purple goop and mutilated, bullet ridden corpses. Apparently these bugs didn’t have any artillery to speak of, so World War I tactics worked like a charm. Speaking of bugs, he caught a glimpse of movement on the edge of the horizon. I looked like he wouldn’t get a chance to enjoy his smoke after all. He spat the cigarette into the mud alongside a dozen others and let out a shout to raise the alarm. The pasty, dress-wearing bloke to his right snapped to attention before raising his stick right in the same direction as Austin’s rifle. Austin still wasn’t sure what to make of magic being real, or fighting alongside these...witches and wizards. He got the feeling that if he got out of this bizarre scene in one piece he’d have some rather complicated feelings about all of it, but right now he couldn’t be arsed to care too much. Their lunch break was over, and now it was time to get back to the grind. 

The swarm of...whatever they were rushed forward with the same single mindedness as always, charging uncaringly into Austin’s line of fire. They didn’t make any attempt to dodge or take cover, and for all that their claws scared the ever loving shit out of him, most of them were mowed down long before they got close.

In the distance, he could see the multicolored spellfire and muzzle flashes erupting from the rest of the line. It was a wide wave this time then, the zerg were spreading themselves out. He pushed that thought aside, keeping his eyes on the enemy in front of him.

Austin’s clip ran out and he quickly reloaded before turning his sights back towards the wave. It was a relatively small wave, with only a few of the humanoid freaks running the gauntlet. They’d been coming like clockwork, a few freaks charged the line every day or so, twice a day at most. No guns, no armor, no vehicles, nothing. And they must have had advanced weaponry somewhere. From the maps the higher-ups had shown them the creepy crawlies had taken over most of the eastern coastline, and the bombs he could occasionally hear in the distance must have been hitting something. But whatever. If the enemy wanted to act like a bunch of idiots, that wasn’t his problem.

As he let fly the last few rounds into the enemy, Austin sighed and reached for another stick, taking a glance at the wizard to his side. The big flappy robe of a uniform was dripping with mud, its wearer looking as weary as Austin was. This was the worst kind of tedium, really. Long stretches of boredom punctuated by short bursts of extreme terror, as some naval officer had famously put it, although in this case even the fighting wasn’t all that intense. Austin took in a deep breath and lit the cigarette. Damn things might kill him someday, but he’d rather die of some disease than let those ugly buggers get to him. 

The sounds of fighting in the distance had also stopped. They must have finished first and they’d probably be radioing in to confirm that about now. Come to think of it, he needed to radio in as well. Eh, they weren’t paying him to be good at remembering things. He could wait a minute, savor the smoke. The rest of the line wasn’t going anywhere. Austin lifted the next cigarette to his lips.

Suddenly, Austin was sprayed with blood as something carved through his flesh. Pain erupted in his left arm,  jaggedly broken off at the elbow. The wizard turned towards the screams, wand raised, before something he couldn’t see burst through the man and twisted him apart in a bloody shower of gore. 

Self preservation instincts forcing themselves to the surface, Austin let go of his stump and grabbed desperately for his rifle, which had fallen into the mud, and raised it into something resembling a firing position. He looked around frantically for a target, any target. He heard a low growl from behind him. 

Austin whipped the rifle around, ignoring the blood spraying across the ground. He saw what looked to be a muscular, oversized leopard with insectoid plating and mandibles covering and digging into its back. It didn’t have time to move before Austin squeezed the trigger, bullets firing wildly at the hulking beast. He released a ragged laugh as he saw his shots hit, each causing a massive visible impact, spraying bits of the creature all over the trench. Austin didn’t let go of the trigger until the clip was empty. The beast stood as still as the dead, small craters covering its skin where his bullets had hit. Had he even hurt the damn thing?  It wasn’t moving, so maybe. But he didn’t have time to worry about that right now. His stump was aching like hell, and this trench wasn’t safe anymore. He needed to get out of here, but his legs refused to cooperate, collapsing under him. Shit, was it blood loss? Was he bleeding out? Austin glanced at his stump. He was feeling woozy and he hadn’t paid much attention in first aid, but he didn’t think that his arm was supposed to be swelling up and changing color this quickly. Christ, was it spreading into his chest? What the fuck was going-

...

The human’s body collapsed into the mud, robbed of its vitality. The plague runner looked down at it for a moment, head tilted, before the Mind demanded it moved again. There was more to kill, more to infect. It glanced over at the invisible vectalisk. Predictably, it saw nothing. It waited for its kin to carve its way to the next section, before plodding along the ground on padded feet. The test was not yet complete.

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore wasn’t sure whether he preferred numbers or pictures when it came to planning wars. Numbers were easy, you could look at the big picture without being reminded of the people and lives behind them. On the other hand photographs provided far more detail, even if they weren’t always details you wanted to know. In this case, Dumbledore had both, spread across the round table, and both the fine details and the big pictures were saying much the same thing.

An aide from the ICW scurried over to the table, bringing more papers. “Thank you Jean-Paul.” The young man nodded and moved to stand over to the side, out of the way, leaving Dumbledore to pore over the new numbers. They told him the exact same story as the ones before them.

“Does it seem to anyone else that there is something of a shortage of these...infested corpses?” 

Heads raised towards him from across the table. “What makes you say that, Supreme Mugwump?” Gerald, one of the ICW delegates, asked. He was currently discussing tactics with some uniformed muggle who had an impressive number of medals and awards pinned to his chest. “We’ve been fighting and killing them in massive numbers,” Gerald continued, “Our most recent estimates put them at hundreds of thousands-”

“Yes, that is rather odd, isn’t it? I would have thought, simply looking at the numbers, that there would be millions.”

There was silence. Dumbledore took that as a signal to continue. “Given what I’ve seen of the zerg, they think of us as resources. By that logic, they have just taken possession of a massive cache of resources. Why are they not using them on the front, why are they not sending them out? Moreover, where are the creatures we’ve encountered in the past? The ones that could fly, or drop bombs, or build truly horrifying wards?”

Most of the others in the room were exchanging worried glances. Adeviar, at Dumbledore’s side, was repeatedly clenching his fists, open and closed, again and again. The bandages on his face twitched and contorted. “If we are not seeing their resources on the frontlines, then it begs the question of what exactly they’re using them for.”

“Mr. Byhumorn, you have a rather... unique insight into the enemy. Do you have any guesses as to what is going on?” asked General Solomon. 

Suddenly, Adeviar stiffened, as if the question offended him. He stopped moving almost entirely staring directly at Solomon. Dumbledore could see mis muscles twitching and flexing under the bandages, revealing the carefully contained tension beneath the surface.

“...Couldn’t say. They have a lot of things they could be doing,” he managed to say. Dumbledore had noticed moments like this ever since the zerg had started to move openly. Moments when Adeviar almost seemed to be struggling against himself, as though he were fighting an invisible war. The poor man, the stress he must be under from this bloody conflict. Dumbledore couldn’t even imagine what it was like. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that others in the room lacked his empathy. “No, you have to know something,” Solomon demanded. “

“I. Don’t. Know,” Adeviar growled the words out stiffly. 

“This is a matter of life and death, not the time to keep your lips sealed,” Geralt said. “Just tell us what you know.

The threads snapped. Adeviar rocketed forward, claw scything through the air. Jean-Paul’s neck was cleaved in half. 

Everyone else reached for their weapons, hands moving to waists, grasping for wands and firearms. They stopped the instant the aides head and body melted to a pile of dark sludge, leaving a mutilated brain lying in the corner of the otherwise immaculate room.

Adeviar’s hand stabbed into the side of his head. He moved them out, dragging out a strand of silver gel, which he flicked onto the table, splattering across the maps before congealing into a smooth ball. “Zerg infiltrators. Memories of all of them. Two minds intertwined, human and alien, use to hide. Don’t listen to pleas. Kill them.”  

It was Geralt who spoke up first. “What in Merlin’s name just happened?”

“Swarm...controlled. Ordered me...to refuse. Solid target, single front. Fought back, beat them off, for now. They barely keep a grip, I’m mutant, other, they’re strong. Won’t last...long. Days, hours, maybe,” Adeviar shook his head, retracting his outstretched claw, 

“Adeviar, surely there must be some way to provide some greater protection,” Dumbledore said. “We could look for a solution, some sort of cure.”

“Tried. Failed. No time now,” Adeviar said, eyes darting, frantically searching the room. They focused on the muggle general. “Nuke them. Now.”

“Sir, I hardly think you understand just what’s-” 

“No time,” Adeviar interrupted again. “Do it now. Only thing they fear. Wanted to hide from you, now want to kill...all of you, all. Before you resort to them.” 

“You can’t seriously expect us to do this.”

“Don’t care,” Adeviar said, and the general’s eyes went blank, before the muggle man turned and obediently walked out of the room. “No time. No...time. Can’t wait.“

Dumbledore spared a glance into Adeviar’s mind. It was every bit the battlefield that his demeanor had suggested, a lone bastion of runes and stone fending off a barrage of tentacles, piercing slowly through the defenses. But for the moment, his mind was his own, as much of it as he could spare at least. He knew what he was doing. Whatever knowledge he had gleaned led him to think that this was the best action. Dumbledore wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t, either. In normal circumstances, he would have objected to these methods, to Adeviar’s means and ends. Given the circumstances, he didn’t think he could afford to. It seemed that some things really did require a clear sight of the greater good, no matter how strongly Dumbledore wished to avoid it.

Adeviar had noticed his intrusion, he must have. He didn’t seem to care. He gestured towards Dumbledore. “Come. Need you. Need all... of you,” he said, gesturing to the mages in the room, before beginning to walk towards the door solemnly.

“Where are we going Adeviar?” Dumbledore asked slowly, hesitantly, summoning Adeviar’s memories as he did so and handing them off to Geralt along with his pensieve. Geralt popped away, presumably to deal with the infiltrators, leaving Adeviar and Dumbledore alone in the room. 

“Ritual. Didn’t work...first time. No choice. Nukes, will get most. Can remove rest.”

“And if it summons something worse?”

“Won’t. Know now. Know what to look for. Enemy of Swarm. Possibilities. Blinding gold, great magic.”

“You must be absolutely certain about this, Adeviar.”

Adeviar barked out a hoarse laugh as he walked out of the doors, jerkily gesturing for them to follow. “Won’t have time for regret...either way. Swarrm’s control...too great. Running on borrowed time.”

Dumbledore felt himself pale slightly at that revelation. His heart went out to Adeviar, truly. The man had been through so much, and it didn’t seem as though he would survive to see victory, even though he would be instrumental in any victory they might find. But it didn’t matter, it couldn’t. None of them enough time to do anything about it.

**(Transition)**

Abathur’s eyes spread in all directions as he strove to take in as much of the golden gleaming egg before him as the human corpses piled alongside it, melting in the acid and letting their sweet biomass swell to form his creation. It had been a long time, far too long, since he had beheld the true pinnacle of the Swarm’s might. This thing was well worth the thousands of pounds of biomass necessary to feed it. 

True, his experiments were a delight. Nundus and defilers mixed beautifully, the disease and its carrier now all in one package. Crossing the zouwo and demiguise strains was unconventional, but they had blended well nonetheless. Abathur expected great success from his plague runners and his vectalisks. The other projects would come along just as nicely, producing more efficient killers. They probably wouldn’t annihilate the humans, but all they had to do was keep them off balance. Let the thief rebel, let him rally the pests against him. His most prized children would walk their brutal path regardless. 

Abathur was standing in the ruins of human habitation, surrounded by the biomass of their dead, piled high and wide as far as his eyes could see, melting down and feeding the rows of glowing golden eggs. He was growing weapons to rid himself of his most despised foe. In all likelihood, he stood on the cusp of humanity’s extinction. There wasn’t a single place in the universe he would rather be. 

**(Transition)**

Nothing stopped her. Luna supposed that she should have expected that, in hindsight. She was a Queen, whatever that meant. Apparently it meant that the zerg would allow her passage through their midst without complaint or delay, letting her walk freely from the mouth of a nydus worm in Britain all the way to the center of the Swarm’s territory on the other side of the globe. This, this was where all the new recruits were. Thenabar had helped reassure her, but she still had to check for herself.  

The differences struck her the second she emerged. The skyline, rather than being dominated by creep and trees, was composed of massive metal buildings, consumed by creep and in varying stages of ruin. Massive spiderwebs scrawled over the streets, gleaming with the glowing runes of the weavers. Luna could feel their alien intelligences crawling over and examining her, accepting, for now. It was weird. She wasn’t used to feeling so many wards in one place. Actually, the whole hivemind felt weird here, like part of it was a little bit out of sync with the rest of it. It clicked together when she stretched her senses out to a nearby overlord and saw herself take a step forward several seconds before she actually did. Had Abathur improved them? He had assimilated the demiguises...

Ignoring the headache the future-glimpses caused her, she reached out to the altered overlords and started to look around the city as though she were flying around herself. The silence was starting to make her nervous.  Every other time she had been to a muggle city, it had been filled with noises. There had been cars driving around, people shouting and talking, and the miscellaneous sounds of thousands of odd devices working in tandem. Everything else was the same. The rough concrete the muggles used felt just as harsh against her feet here as it had in London. The air was still a bit abrasive against her throat, the skyscrapers were just as imposing and beautiful as ever, even despite (despite?) the creep covering them. But all the people were missing. 

Was Abathur rounding them up, perhaps still recruiting all of them? There had clearly been a lot of people here, and it took a lot of time and attention to fully bring in each person. Luna hadn’t even been patient enough to wait for Abathur to finish when he’d been working with her, it had taken so long!

If that was the case, they had to be around here somewhere. Abathur wouldn’t just shove a few million people into a sack somewhere. Luna’s feet kept carrying her forward as her mind darted through the strands, sieving and sorting through them to find what she was looking for. 

After the first few minutes, Luna was starting to get tired of the sound of her own footsteps. Each city block in front of her was just as empty as the ones behind, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t read any of the signs. Still, she pressed on. She had to find something on sooner or later.  

Despite her conviction, it was nearly an hour before she found anything except patrolling zerglings and the occasional dragon. Out of an overlord’s eyes, placed just at the very edge of her net, she caught sight of a carapace encased humanoid a few seconds before they stepped out from an alley. Luna let out a shout of joy, shattering the silence. Her tentacles dug into the concrete, cracking it apart before launching Luna onto the side of a building, which she scrambled up rapidly, getting on top for a better view, barely noticing the glass that cracked under her claws. She caught sight of the distant figure and sprinted towards it, flying over streets and using roofs as launching pads. The figure didn’t seem to take note, walking briskly away from her.  Luna didn’t care.. She’d found someone, finally!

Luna bounded forward, approaching the figure, leaping like a frog, approaching the end of the skyline towards the open space. She was about to catch up. Just one more leap and-

The concrete shattered under her as she slid to a halt, losing her balance in shock as she took in the sight before her. Slowly, shakily, she rose to her feet, looking over the open space, outside of the gleaming skyscrapers and winding streets. Her eyes darted everywhere, looking for something, anything else. A low wail came unbidden from her throat. 

Corpses. Bodies stacked as tall as houses, and as wide as Hogsmeade, slowly sinking into a grid of green bubbling pools. Luna couldn’t make out faces from this distance, just piles of skin, unmoving, clammy, gray, sinking and melting slowly. No cocoons, no modifications, no sign of mutations or assimilations. _._ Just green slurries funnelling slowly into massive, obviously inhuman eggs, feeding them with lives. No, not lives. These people were dead now, turned into food, reduced to things. There was only one living being in that corpse pit, one distinctive, familiar, intelligent, and suddenly horrifying creature.

Luna could never mistake the utterly unique form of Abathur, standing right in the center of all of it.  

_Dun dun duuuuuunnnnn! ~f_

**(Transition)**

**Psionic integration: Despite the relative rarity of psionics across all planets, the Swarm has encountered a fair number of non sentient species which display some psionic ability. The species which originally gave rise to the overlord, defiler, queen, viper, and infestor strains are prime examples of this. These species tend to be both incredibly rare and incredibly delicate. As of yet, the zerg do not know precisely what causes psionics to manifest, and so they are reluctant to modify these species beyond basic muscular and dermatological augmentations. In addition, the rarity of these species the Swarm couldn’t work around this limitation. As such, many of the abilities of the original creature are left unchanged, forcing into a narrow niche of useful roles which not all hive clusters may need in the first place, with the exceptions of the overlord strain and later versions of the queen strain. It is only recently, with the absorption of many of the both useless and valuable psionic species abundant on Earth that more radical research and combinations are being used on the frontlines, such as the plague runners and vectalisk. The plague runner was designed as a siege breaker. It’s main weapon was the large amounts of flaky dead skin cells on its surface, infested with a potent mix of the defiler and nundu diseases. Each individual cell is extremely infectious, and any significant force applied causes the volatile chemicals beneath the dead layer to erupt, scattering the pestilent particles. Combined with the musculature and natural weaponry of the nundu, the plague runner becomes a vicious close range combatant which can only be taken down by heavy artillery or intense, precise force, both of which scatter the infected cells across incredible distances, causing widespread destruction. The vectalisk, which is the result of a mixture of demiguise and a zouwu essence, most closely resembles an elongated sea urchin with its long, carapace-covered form and massive array of bladed legs. Unlike a sea urchin, however, the vectalisk has bladed limbs protruding in all directions, to better carve through enemies.The vectalisk was made for the same purpose as the plague runner, but is capable of more surgical strikes, where a plague runner causes widespread devastation wherever it goes. The vectalisk can also teleport a fair distance, allowing it unprecedented mobility. As its demiguise heritage also allows it to stay completely invisible, this allows the vectalisk to cause widespread havok, or perform deadly surgical strikes into the heart of enemy territory before retreating to a safe distance. Or both.**

**Regardless of their ultimate purpose, these two strains represent the first step in a new era of psionic evolution for the zerg, one that is certain to raise the Swarm to new, terrible heights the likes of which no lesser species can comprehend.**


	55. Cataclysm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Two more chapters after this? Possibly and probably, but we’ll see how that goes. Also, don’t own it.
> 
> _What this means is that there will definitely be two chapters after this one. Whether there will be more than that or not is uncertain. By my estimation, however, it’s highly unlikely that the story will conclude after a mere two more chapters. We’re close to the end, but not quite that close._
> 
> _Three chapters, minimum. Probably. ~f_

“Abathur,” Luna said in a quiet, direct tone. “What are you doing?”

One of Abathur’s eyes glanced in her direction, the rest of his body not moving at all. “Luna. Unanticipated. Purpose of visit?”

“I asked you a question, Abathur. What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” Luna pressed on, projecting confidence as best she could. She just barely managed to look at Abathur. Just him. 

“Harvesting biomass. Require substantial material, most efficient source,” Abathur responded calmly, without emotion. “Presence still unexplained. Similar answer required” 

 “I was looking for the humans I recruited! Where are they? Where the hell are they Abathur?” Luna was yelling now. 

“Hmm. Various locations. Providing paths for drones. Allowing additional harvesting. Useful strain, versatile,” Abathur said in a neutral tone. 

“I want to talk to them!”

“Not recommended. More use elsewhere. No important conversation.”

“Why aren’t you letting me talk to them?” 

Abathur finally looked at her, projecting what Luna could only describe as disdain through the hivemind. He examined her for a few seconds, before turning away dismissively. Luna could sense him pulling on a few strands of distant thought. Then, quite suddenly, a cracking sound rang out from behind her. Luna whirled around to see someone standing there, covered in carapace, standing on two legs with two arms. 

Weeks of tension slid out of Luna. Finally, she could talk to someone, she could figure out everything that was going on, she could prove that all her worries are all unfounded. She had to make an effort to avoid looking at the piles. 

“Hello!” she said with forced cheeriness. There was no response. The man? women? person’s eyes stared dead ahead, not reacting at all to her. She waved her hand in front of their face. They didn’t even blink.

“Abathur, what’s wrong with them?” The bodies were looming larger in the edges of her vision. 

“No flaws. Personality unnecessary. Removed. More efficient,” Abathur said in matter-of-fact tone, as though utterly wiping away someone’s personality was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

“Did you...did you do that to all the people I recruited?”

Abathur considered the question for a moment. “Likely. Some conversions, ongoing. Not examined recently.” 

“Can’t you fix them?” 

“Unnecessary. Current state, fully functional. No significant problems,” Abathur said. Luna turned to look at him, only to see that his attention was elsewhere, his eyes focused on the slowly dissolving bodies. She couldn’t avoid looking at them now, they dominated her view. It was impossible for her to tear her eyes away.

“Abathur, please tell me what’s going on right now,” Luna pleaded. “The people I recruited are acting like zombies, you’re standing in front of a bunch of dead bodies, and you don’t see anything wrong with that?! What’s wrong with you?”

“Subject of emotional fluctuations, result of your incomplete conversion. Centaur attack interrupted. Stability, connection to hivemind stunted. Can correct later. Terran eradication of greater importance,” Abathur said. 

Luna’s next words stuck in her throat. What had happened to Abathur? She tried to reconcile the apathetic figure before her with her memories of the friend that had promised her the stars. But then...Abathur had always been a bit stiff, hadn’t he? As Luna examined her memories of past conversations with him, many of which were still crystal clear as a result of her conversion, she realized with growing horror that the only human life he’d ever shown concern for...was hers. Memories flashed through her mind’s eye, Abathur actively staying away from other students, moving himself away from the humans as soon as he could, wiping out the Death Eaters as soon as he could get away with it, and now the bodies, so many of them piled up. He didn’t care about humans. Or maybe he did, but only as raw essence and biomass, things to use and discard. But Luna hadn’t noticed, hadn’t realized that he fought humanity for any reason other than self defense.

Slowly, delicately, Luna reached out for Abathur’s presence in the hivemind. He didn’t pay her any mind, distracted as he was by...whatever he was doing with all of the dissolving corpses. Tentatively, she tried to puzzle out the creature who had comforted her in her time of need, who had given her what she needed to become stronger. What she found surprised her. Abathur didn’t feel a simple disdain for humanity like she’d though, he felt something more like fear, a complex form of paranoia wrapped so tightly in hatred that it was almost unrecognizable. He didn’t value people as individuals at all, it was exactly the opposite, almost as though he wanted to-

Suddenly, alarm flooded through the hivemind. An old trigger had been pulled, sending a flashing image of scarlet smoke and deadly blasts through Luna’s mind so suddenly that it shocked her thoughts back into her own head. She looked at Abathur with her physical eyes, confused.

Abathur’s face was pointed skyward. Luna followed his gaze. She caught glimpses of smoke and a flying metal cylinder before she was blinded by an intense light. In the back of her mind she could feel Abathur working, pulling together the alien minds of the wards. They concentrated themselves right above her. She could feel something striking them, something screaming and forceful and hot. Then the wards shattered and everything went black.

**(Transition)**

_ a few days earlier... _

“...and before we begin, welcome back to the table General Andrews. Might I offer my congratulations for your success on the front?” 

General Andrews raised his unbandaged arm in acknowledgement before settling it back down on the papers scattered in front of him, trying to keep his other arm as still as possible. He looked across the table, eyes passing over all the newly emptied seats. Say what you like about the wizards; when they set their minds to something they got it  _ done _ . According to the rumors, it had taken less than three days to get rid of all the zerg infiltrators. And without the wizards, no one would have known about said infiltrators at all...Andrews shivered at the thought.

The head of the meeting, one General Pasgo, turned to his side. “General Solomon, what’s the report from the magical side of things?”

“Frankly, they’re running out of options,” General Solomon said grimly. “I’m sure you all know of their instant death curse. The zerg have apparently found a defense against that, something about dead skin armor or...something. The instant death curse was, up until now, one of their last reliably effective weapons.”

 “They’re fast learners. Too damn fast,” Andrews added, “Anytime we brought out heavy firepower, they just brought something tougher-” he slid several of the pictures forward. Unfortunately, he also made the mistake of glancing at one of them, and then he was lost in memory.  _ A massive four legged form, shrugging off the tank round like it was nothing, firey blades swinging down, tearing through the tank and through the men inside and then coming out the other side as though they hadn’t cut through anything at all. Fire bursting out to roast the rest of the nearby- _ Andrews shook his head, clearing it of the horrors of war.  _ “Ahem.  _ They just brought out something tougher in response to everything we threw at them, usually something that could shrug off whatever we threw at them like you or I would throw off a light breeze.” Andrews took a deep breath, collecting himself. “I’m not certain how long it will be until we’ve run out of weapons to throw at them. They’re backing us into a corner.” He pushed more photographs forward. The gathered generals surveyed them with grim faces.

“Victory can’t be impossible, Andrews. We can beat them, you proved that yourself.” 

And just like that, he was back...there.

_ Separated. Alone. Even the squirming ground might try to kill him at any second. Glowing red eyes and scuttling claws piercing the dust, searching for him, seeking him out. Relief as his flanks advanced in a pincer move, crushing the isolated zerg, shredding them. Relief as the unbearable stress gave way to relief that his Hail Mary had paid off. He knew for a fact that he couldn’t be bait again. Even if he could bring himself to try, the damned bugs wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. _

Andrews slapped the table, as much to snap himself out of the memory as to emphasize his point. “I won because they acted like idiots, once, and when I pulled my little trick they didn’t have those-” he scanned through his papers again, “-ultralisks, they call them. Those things are stronger than tanks.”

There was a lengthy pause. “Well then,” General Pasgo spoke up. “What do you propose?”

“Quite honestly, I have no idea,” Andrews responded, slumping back into his chair dejectedly, only to wince as the move jostled his arm.

“We do have one more option,” Solomon stated grimly. The table went silent.

Andrews sat still, looking around the table, waiting for someone to say something, to raise an objection. No one did, and that was telling all on its own. Looking around, he saw the exact same expression on everyone’s face that was no doubt reflected on his own. Eyes downcast, resigned. Mouths half-open as they all tried to think of another option. Slumped shoulders that knew no such option existed. 

Finally, General Solomon broke the silence.

“They can’t have any way to defend against it,” he justified, “They’re still creatures of flesh and blood, they can’t withstand nuclear fire. And they’ve already...cleared the area, so to speak, of any friendlies who might get caught in the blast. Civilian  _ or  _ military.”

“I’ll support this,” Andrews said, almost involuntarily. “We can’t continue like we have been, trying to find the boot to properly stomp them out. Something has to be done...and this is all that  _ can  _ be done.”

“I have to agree,” someone said. And suddenly, the floodgates opened. Everyone at the table, from Americans to Russians to East Indians to the lone Israeli representative permitted a seat at the table.

Andrews was surprised that it took so little to convince them. But even as that thought occurred to him, his mind fogged slightly and it occurred to him yet again that they really didn’t have a choice. What were they supposed to do, continue as they had been until humanity was extinct, replaced by those damn bugs? That wouldn’t do. No, that wouldn’t do at all, Andrews thought to himself three days later as he watched the keys turn, the alarms flash. 

All over the world, similar keys were turned while similar alarms blared. No more than five minutes later, nearly one hundred and ten of mankind’s most deadly weapons sailed through the air with but a single, deadly purpose. A fully fledged nuclear holocaust, rocketing off to end the war.

**(Transition)**

It took minutes for the smoke to clear, minutes for Abathur to realize what had just happened. The the stupid humans had actually  _ done it _ . He had calculated the odds, laid out his plans in the knowledge that these primitive humans seemed to fear their own weapons, and now everything was broken, destroyed,  _ ruined _ . His forces were history, most of the hive clusters across this continent had been obliterated, everything was  _ gone _ . Without the wards, he would have been gone too.

“Wha-what was that?” Luna asked, shakily and quietly, rising from the ground. Her cells must have been having difficulty with the radiation.  _ Another  _ problem to fix, another miscalculation, another error. 

“Nuclear weapons. Human devices. Unexpected.  _ Unacceptable! _ ” Abathur exhaled, and the Swarm moved, breaking the illusion of stillness. He moved to his eggs, his precious cocoons, still intact due to the durability of their contents. Yes, yes, perhaps the situation was salvageable after all. There were less of his children than he would have liked, but it was enough. It was enough to rampage and crush them all, enough to kill them,  _ enough. _

Abathur released his grip on their metabolic processes, letting them grow and swell to full size. One by one, the barbed, slightly shimmering cocoons hatched open, the large frames of one of his masterpieces unfolding over the rubble of their kin. He didn’t bother giving them any direction or strategy. They were beyond any need for such subtle things. Should he send them after the traitor first? Adeviar had to be plotting something, he would know nuclear missiles wouldn’t get everything. Yes, he would be first, along with all the other psionic irritances. Thenabar and Abathur’s other project would remove the last few irritants.

“But...they were all here a second ago? Everything was just here! What happened? What just happened?” Luna seemed to be going into shock. Some runaway nervous signal no doubt. Abathur would neuter her endocrine system later. When all the humans were gone and Daggoth arrived, he could finally attend to all those little details, finally get back to what he was  _ supposed  _ to be doing. The satisfaction of wiping out his most hated enemy paled in comparison to the hassle of actually  _ doing  _ it. Still, it was a task worth completing.

“Abathur, please, tell me! What’s going on!” Abathur slithered past Luna, ignoring her as best he could. Clearly that neutering needed to happen sooner rather than later. For now, however, he had more important matters to attend to. Abathur approached one of the digestive pools, its supply of biomass relatively protected from the blasts. He put his claws together, feeding essence into the pool to form a larva. He placed it delicately in the pile, ensuring it was secured snugly in the dead flesh. The larva grew into a cocoon which rapidly consumed the flesh. 

Behind him, Luna scrambled towards the structure. Abathur imagined she was saying something, but he was too busy to bother paying attention. Spore cannons were delicate structures, they had to be to fire accurately over interplanetary distances. The cocoon burst, the stout base shifting to accommodate the shifts of the upper mouth. Abathur began spinning the payload, making sure the basilisk essence was packed delicately, with several redundancies. Luna’s relatively light strikes across his carapace were becoming an increasingly severe distraction, and unfortunately most of the psionics in the city had been evaporated, so there weren’t any he could spare to divert her. Daggoth was arriving soon, but he had acquired enough biomass in the system that he should be able to grow the delivery as soon as it arrived. 

Abathur hadn’t originally intended to use that strain, but his creations wouldn’t be enough now. Daggoth should be able to grow the delivery. This, this would tip the scales, with this and all of his other forces, he would finally be able to remove the terran blight from the galaxy. 

Now he just had to endure Luna’s hysteria until he got a chance to finally correct it. He had already dulled his nerves, so the strikes wouldn’t distract him too much. The headaches the humans were causing him was much worse.

**(Transition)**

By human standards, the cloak was a ratty, filthy thing, fit for destruction and exuding misery. By zerg standards, it was a wasteless scrap of biomass, fragile, flimsy, and without any real use. But for some reason, the old dementor’s cloak hung very comfortably around Thenabar’s shoulders, swishing with a delightful flourish as he walked through the halls. True, there wasn’t anything around to notice his fashion choice, at least nothing  _ notable _ , but Thenabar comforted himself with the thought that his realive solitude would only last for a few more hours at most. Perhaps it was the boggart essence in him, but he couldn’t help but yearn for an audience. 

What was the point of a shock if there was no one around to be shocked?

Thenabar interrupted his musings just long enough to push open the door to the master bedroom, currently occupied by a massive cocoon, an oblong thing stretching from floor to ceiling. Come to think of it, this was probably the single most concentrated source of magical knowledge on the planet. And soon, it would be complete, fully grown and ready to receive orders. Thenabar, the lowly morpholisk, would give orders to one of the future centerpieces of the Swarm. He would need to savor that while it lasted. Such things were so rare that they simply didn’t happen.

Should he wake it now or later? If he woke it earlier, it would have time to learn. On the other hand, he wouldn’t want to interrupt its development. Overmind knew that Luna alone was hard enough to handle as she was, and the Evolution Master’s masterpiece would be much, much worse if it somehow gained her attitude. No, best to leave it be, no matter how much eager Thenabar was for a taste of the fear this thing would provide. Oh how he would miss that sweet liquor once all was said and done, and there was nothing left to feed from. Oh, well, no doubt he could find a substitute.

Thenabar pulled the cloak closer higher on his body, surrounding himself with the coarse fabric. It didn’t matter in the end what he ate, he supposed. For now, he would have to content himself with anticipation for what would likely be the most delectable meal he would ever consume. All he had to do was wait.

**(Transition)**

For a moment, the bright flare of the nuclear explosions were too great for the camera recording the footage to process, and the screen was pure white. Even after that, it took nearly a minute for the explosion to dissipate and the smoke to clear. Once it did, however, Albus saw exactly the devastation he had expected and dreaded. Levelled buildings and ashen landscapes most of which would remain uninhabitable for weeks, at the very least. He took some small comfort in the fact that there wouldn’t have been any people left, not after the zerg had got to them. No innocents had died, not in these initial blasts at least. Now he would have to do his best to contain the fallout.

Most importantly, Dumbledore could see no zerg. There was no scurrying abominations, no waves of vicious beasts crawling out from cover, eager to draw blood. All was still.

“Perhaps there’s no need to perform the ritual after all, Adeviar?” he asked the man behind him. The bandaged curse breaker was kneeling on the ground, chalk scratching restlessly away as he added to the already sizeable ritual circle he’d inscribed on the floor of their private room in the ICW headquarters.

“Ritual was...only option then. Only option now. Have no regrets. Nothing will be unfinished. Nothing,” Adeviar muttered, half to himself and half in reply to Albus’s words. “Bombs...not enough. Zerg...used to it by now.” 

“What was that?” Dumbledore asked sharply.

“Humans...nuked them before. They adapted. Found solutions,” Adeviar said, still focusing on the runes.

“Adeviar, Abathur arrived here less than two decades ago, and this is the first major nuclear strike since then. How could they have been struck with nuclear weapons by humans before now?”

“Fighting humans. Long wars. Terrans were...strong. Weak. Both. Had to learn how to fight. How to kill. Learned well.” 

Dumbledore moved towards Adeviar, placing his hand on the chalk wielding claw, holding it in place “What exactly are you saying?”

Adeviar glared at Dumbledore, forcefully pulling his claw away from Dumbledore’s grip with unmatched strength. “Swarm, fighting...us. Longer than we fought them. They have tricks. Can still...hear whispers. They plan. Look.” The tortured man managed to pull his chalk away from the floor long enough to point it towards the screen. 

Dumbledore didn’t look away. “Adeviar, I can’t quite imagine the strain you must be going through. I’ve seen only the barest glimpse into their mind, and it overwhelmed me. Both the zerg and the fight inside your mind are beyond my comprehension. But I can’t help but question whether even such creatures as them can survive such devastation.” 

“Not crazy. Don’t underestimate...zerg. They’re...more than you know,” Adeviar growled out. “Won’t explain, you won’t believe me, won’t matter.” 

“Adeviar, the difference between wars lost and won is often the amount of information each side has. If you know something, anything that may help us win, you should share it,” Dumbledore implored.

“Want to know? Want to...see? Look. They’re out,” Adeviar extended a single claw towards the screen, showing more of the smoke billowing around the ruins.

At first, Dumbledore saw nothing but more billowing smoke. But as the smoke settled down and the minutes passed, something rose up, uncurling like some gigantic, unholy crab with the body of a centipede, covered in more spikes than he cared to count. Two massive, almost tusk-like spikes took the place of what would have been the crab’s claws, had this been an actual crustacean. From the buildings next to it, Dumbledore could tell it was dozens of stories tall, and equally as wide. It’s body stretched up and out like a horizontal manta ray with enormous blades instead of wings. It was a beast, a monster designed meticulously and deliberately to kill. It’s sheer existence was utterly terrifying.

 Then the second one breached the smog. And the third, and the fourth and the fifth and another dozen after that. They walked deliberately away from the ruins toward the nearby human troops, their massive plated tails covered in yet more immense spines swaying behind them.

“Brutalisk. Flesh cleaver, massive ones,” Adeviar said unprompted, without even looking at the screen. “Coming for us. Need to finish.” 

When Albus didn’t move, Adeviar stood up and forced a piece of chalk into his hand before dragging him to another corner. Without another word, the two began drawing symbols into the ground, steadily working to complete the ritual circle.   
  


**(Transition)**

_ Brutalisk: It’s big. It’s brutal. It’s...well, I don’t actually know where the -lisk suffix comes from. Probably some random zerg though it sounded cool. They call pretty much everything some sort of -lisk, so it can’t be some specific trait that makes a unit...lisk-y. ~f _

**(That naming convention is something of a calculated lisk.)**

_I am facepalming so hard right now. You know the .jpg of the guy facepalming so hard his palm goes_ ** _through_** _his face? That’s me right now. ~f_

**Brutalisk: Rare, titanic, and lethal are the words best used to describe the brutalisk. The most sizable and durable combat strain of the Swarm, the vaguely mantis-like brutalisk towers over the battlefield. Its massive claws, acid spittle, and enormous bulk let it shake off damage up to and including the raw force of a nuclear blast while scything through both airborne and land based forces, often single-handedly determining the tide of battle. Despite it’s incredible power, however, the brutalisk is almost never seen among the ranks of the Zerg. It’s biggest strength, it’s size and raw power, is unfortunately a double-edged sword. The sheer amount of resources combined with the technical difficulty of growing a creature of such massive size make them a costly and unreliable investment for most zerg commanders. Only a few of the cerebrates and broodmothers have ever grown brutalisks at all, and only the Evolution Master has been able to consistently grow them under combat conditions. But even the Evolution Master himself has never grown brutalisks in large numbers, having always lacked the resources.**

**For evidence of the brutalisk’s ability to turn the tide of battle, look no further than the Evolution Master. Abathur was not designed as a strategist, but his limited tactical ability combined with the devastating force of a brutalisk or three more than compensates for any shortcomings. Even in the hands of a novice, the brutalisk is the absolute pinnacle of Zerg lethality, an unstoppable force and immovable object all in one. No single creature can face it and live.**


	56. Collapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: In college now. Writing is probably going to slow. Or speed up. Idfk. Looks like slow down. So much learning, none of it for this, no scientific accuracy. Also, don’t own it.

Slash, spit, crush, tear. Let the brutalisk charge forward, let them rip apart the feeble terran flesh, let their ears soak in the screams, the cries, let the pained wails guide them to their prey. Abathur enjoyed the pattern, enjoyed it’s familiarity, enjoyed observing the results, enjoyed the secondhand rush of adrenaline and the slight spike of resistance when his children’s claws passed through a hunk of metal or a human’s spine. He enjoyed how it was so easy for him to charge through the muted thuds of tank shells and bullets. 

In the distant corners of his mind, Abathur was aware of the other parts of his hive cluster, crawling and repairing and healing. He would leave it to its own devices. The more intelligent strains could manage that, they knew how to recover their grip. He wanted all of his focus right here, in the frenzy. 

Let the Swarm tend to itself, let Daggoth finish his long journey,  _ he  _ was going to tear apart the last shreds of human resistance.  

**(Transition)**

Dumbledore had contemplated his death often enough. He was reaching the age where it was a regular concern, rather than some faint, distant possibility. Even then, it was not something he wished to dwell on. These days, it was the deaths of others that occupied his mind. The death of those on the battlefield and increasingly often the deaths of those behind it. It was these deaths that he was thinking of now.

Not all of that was morbid, traumatised reflection. This ritual, entrenched as it was in the act of finding a solution to violent problems, had a tendency to drag out those thoughts. Dumbledore could feel it siphon away his magic, dragging it out in drops and pulses, shaping it to fill the carvings, flowing like water into every gap they could. Adeviar and he had gone over it to the point of exhaustion, ensuring thoroughly that  _ this time,  _ nothing could or would go wrong.

It was finally time, and all Dumbledore could think about was the people on the battlefield, dying right now while he completed this task. The ritual demanded it, demanded that focus on death and those about to die. Adeviar, standing stoically on the opposite side of the room, must have been thinking the same thing, even if he didn’t show it. No doubt he had many things to dwell on.  

Dumbledore’s attention returned to the circle, swirling and rising, a vague aperture opening in the middle, tinted a bright blue. He had no idea what would come through. All he could do was have faith.

**(Transition)**

Tassadar’s mind had never been as clear as it was now. He was standing on the deck of Gantrithor as it fell apart around him, channelling power that he would once have considered heretical beyond belief, and aiming his prow into the leader of a race dangerous beyond reason, a creature the size of a mountain, and his mind was tranquil like the bright and constant golden structures of his youth, not half a hemisphere away. 

A portal yawned into place over the Overmind. It seemed the dark creature intended to flee. Tassadar, in his focused state, knew it was pointless. He was too close, the power of the dark templar too strong and too eager for the foul mind’s death. This was its end. This would be his death too, but that didn’t seem quite as important. Right now, he was Akhundelar, the tip of the spear. It was the fate of all templar to draw blood and seep it. 

His life for Aiur.  Somehow, he had always thought he would die this way. He had trained. He had fought. He had learned. And now, it would all be worth it.

The ship was breaking apart beneath Tassadar’s feet. He was close, mere moments from the impact, when something pulled on the edges of his mind, a gap of awareness, a void of thought, inviting, pleading for his presence. 

**(Transition)**

Thenabar stood abruptly. Dumbledore’s pet traitor had finally gotten desperate enough to try the ritual. Such a silly man, thinking that hiding from their control would hide him from the sight of the Overmind. A delightful lie, so ripe now, what fear would he feel when Thenabar plucked it away?

The cocoon sitting in front of him was ripped open, a ring of remarkably human looking hands piercing the wet skin and pulling it away. He would have thought they’d have been warped more, but whatever. The hands were far from the most important part of the Psionic master. It didn’t really matter what the candelabra of bodies looked like, except perhaps to add that special layer of flavoring to the initial burst of shock when Dumbledore finally saw it. If he’d bothered to mimic salivary glands, Thenabar would have been drooling. But no, that was later. The present came first.

“I assume you know what we’re doing?” Thenabar asked the newborn master. It really was odd how little had changed with the base material.

“YesOfcourseAbsolutelyIndeed we do,” came the reply from half a dozen lips in a similar number of pitches, a rather eerie effect which would no doubt work wonderfully disturbing effects when echoing in human ears.

“Good. Let’s hop to it then,” Thenabar said, gesturing impatiently at the amalgamation. Really, if it knew what it was meant to be doing then why wasn’t it-

Suddenly they stood in the middle of a Hogwarts corridor, the twisting nausea of teleportation and the buzzing whispers of shattering wards ringing through Thenabar’s mind. Ah. It wanted to be thorough. Fair enough. He set off walking, ignoring the distant screams of panicked children, all that wasted food. It was a shame, but he had to save himself for now, couldn’t risk filling up just yet. 

The Psionics master had landed him close to his objective, that massive stockpile of human waste that the Evolution master had found all those years ago and never found an occasion to use. How long had it been processed at this point, four years, five? Five years of accumulating and processing a school’s worth of wasted biomass. There was really only one thing that he could make with all of that.

Thenabar produced a larva from within his cloak as he walked calmly towards the reservoir. With a wave of one of the Psionic master’s many hands, the door opened. Thenabar, ignoring the stench, haphazardly tossed the minute creature into the biomass, grinning. This was going to be fun. The second the larva touched the putrid mass, it burrowed under, devouring it. Thenabar caught a few golden gleams shimmering off the carapace as it went down. His smile grew wider. It was probably manic at this point, come to think of it. 

He had no way of tracking how long it would take for the larva to feed and complete its metamorphosis. Then, quite suddenly, the brutalisk burst out of the pile, tearing apart the bricks that contained it, eliciting screams and delicious spikes of fear and pain. A few of the students had probably been crushed in the growth, the poor dears. Oh well, they had probably bothered him in the hallways a few times. He wasn’t feeling very sorry. Besides, they were just appetizers. There was still quite the commute to get to the main course. 

Thenabar didn’t see what happened when the Psionic master warped the three of them out of Hogwarts’ ruins, but he hoped it involved a lot of falling bricks and more falling hopes. 

**(Transition)**

One of Daggoth’s maws enveloped the incoming spore, consuming it, tasting it. The Evolution Master had sent him essence, an odd flavor, tinged with patterns and a scale much larger than usual for his creations. It was tainted with the chemicals of fear and pain. Abathur was in trouble. Very well, Daggoth would grow this spore, he would take his flesh and mold it to the Evolution Master’s plan. There was little time left before he reached his destination, but he had enough flesh and enough focus to finish the process.

Within his bellies, his flesh cast itself into the pits of acid, reducing themselves to biomass, fed to the spore. A shape was emerging, a vague spheroid, dominated by a single massive eye. 

While it grew, Daggoth examined the essence, how the strands twisted and turned within the growing creature, weaving their delicate pattern. It took a long time, nearly up until they had reached their destination’s remarkably large moon. The Evolution Master had outdone himself. Daggoth would quite enjoy unleashing it on this defenseless blue marble.

**(Transition)**

The first hints of a silhouette had just formed in the center of the runic ring when a thunderous crash erupted from outside the thick walls of the ritual room. Dumbledore and Adeviar both jerked their heads, looking for the source of the sound. They didn’t have to look hard; a massive claw, hooked and barbed, tore through the western wall, followed by a head, little more than two thick jaws holding up a large horn. A brutalisk, right in front of them. Dumbledore hadn’t realized just how large they were. The creature stood through multiple floors, open hallways broken apart and feeding into the new cavern

The beast released a deep grunt that rattled their bones, cracking the wall open wider, opening a gap. Behind it, Dumbledore could see aurors running towards the creature, running to the edge of the newly made balconies. 

“Ignore,” Adeviar said to Dumbledore, if not calmly then determinedly. “Ritual important. Others can kill.” His body remained turned towards the bright blue aperture, even as his yellow eyes darted over the brutalisk. “Have to finish. Have to.”

“Why Adeviar, that’s such a harsh tone to take. If you’re not careful, one would almost think that you don’t  _ want _ to attend this little reunion,” A small figure in a dark cloak walked through the yawning crack, stepping confidently through the dust.  “Do at least show some appreciation for all the effort we’ve put in. Honestly, we’ve spent months setting up the guest list alone.” Dumbledore could see the slim curve of a smirk underneath the hood, parting slightly to let the light, mocking words out.

“Thenabar,” Dumbledore stated. He drew out his wand, ignoring the slight tugs of the ritual and Adeviar’s warning growl in favor of the comforting feel of elder wood in his hand. 

“Yes, well, obviously. You didn’t think I  _ wouldn’t  _ come, not when our little duel is still unfinished?” Thenabar rolled his shoulders back, letting the oddly familiar hood fall off his face, revealing wide eyes and a widening grin, both as manic as any expression he had ever seen Tom wear. “ _ I’ve been waiting for this for so long, Albus, and I won’t let anything stop us this time. _ ” 

The aurors launched their spells, bright red and green jets spilling towards the brutalisk. Then a sudden pulse of magic came from its feet, swelling over the spells and rupturing them. Coiled wisps of magic escaped into the air, an unstoppable volley of spells dismissed almost casually. 

Thenabar sighed dramatically. “If you wouldn’t mind, this is a  _ private  _ event. Please, I’d rather you didn’t interfere.” The brutalisk turned its attention away from the ritual room, its spiked feet digging deep into the stone, forcing it to turn. “For Merlin’s sake man, some of them haven’t seen dear old Albus in years.” The brutalisk took several ponderous steps to the right, turning to the aurors, revealing a second figure. 

 Dumbledore didn’t wait any longer. With a flick of his wand, a whip of fire washed across the room, a striking viper of a flame bearing its fangs towards Thenabar. The light was washing over his robes, casting shadows across the alien’s face, when the whip stopped in midair, mere inches from his face.

“Unacceptable, DumbledoreAlbusProfessor. You will not harmstopkill him. You will stop your ritualsummoningresistence immediately,” said a number of voices, each with the same pitch and tone. A hand reached over Thenabar’s head, grasping the whip without any sign of pain. The body it was attached to was human as far as he could tell. All of them, Madame Horchaver, Gellert, Tom, each of the half dozen wizards that the Swarm must have acquired all looked human enough on their own. But not taken together, not with veins and skin leading into the center of that fleshy mass, not with the tendrils holding them in place like a macabre chandelier. A collection of the most powerful wizards and witches on the planet, hung around and fused to the zerg in an utterly disgusting way. If Dumbledore had ever required more proof of the zerg’s evil, utterly aberrant nature, this would have  

“Are there truly no boundaries you won’t break, Thenabar?” Dumbledore asked, letting a note of fury fly out under his words while his wand began to move. 

“Dumbledore, Dumbledore, please try to be more understanding,” Thenabar said, head tilted, holding his hands wide in a peaceful gesture. “The whole reason we’re interested in you at all is because of your ability to use magic. You didn’t expect us to leave here empty handed, did you?” 

 The hand,  _ Gellert’s hand _ , twisted its wrist, dissipating the flame whip. Several of the other hands began to rise, moving in the air as if conducting a phantom orchestra. Dumbledore finished his spell, forming a ring of brilliant red reductor curses around the monstrosity and Thenabar, letting them fly in. Thenabar managed to slip under them, practically flowing under the curses with inhuman flexibility, before dashing towards Adeviar. Tom raised a hand, and the curses heading towards him and the others simply vanished. The conducting whipped into a frenzy, sending plates of earth rocketing towards Dumbledore, damaging some of the outer edge of the circle. Dumbledore muttered an incantation, pulling up a shield seconds before the rock stuck him. There was a moment’s pause, a single second of peace in the now flickering blue light of the ritual, before Adeviar cast a sickly green-yellow beam towards Thenabar and the fight began in earnest.

**(Transition)**

The world outside his ship seemed to slow down as the call came to Tassadar’s mind. The Gantrithor’s hull pushed slowly, painfully into the Overmind’s flesh as the dark templar’s energy moved into the vast creature in slow spiraling arcs. He had time to think, time to respond. 

The call was tempting. It promised escape, it promised a chance to fight for his people and for the universe for yet longer, to see the proud and just world, free of the zerg and their ruinous path to oblivion, free of the shackling traditions of the Conclave. It promised him a chance to fight and to help, and there was that tinge of desperation and pleading that he had felt above Mar Sara, with all those terrans minds begging, hoping, running to whatever safety they could find. Even the terrans, with their young minds, and even with the expanse of space between them, he had heard that cry and could not bring himself to silence it. 

But the Overmind’s vast bulk remained before him, on the verge of escape, and before any other duty he could possibly take on he had to finish this one, for the sake of everything else. He couldn’t leave this unfinished. It was simply inconceivable. He could not disrespect the sacrifices of all those brave templar and courageous terrans who had given their lives to save countless more. All he had to do was stay here, and it would all be done.

He could see the energies of the dark templar ravaging the Overmind, tearing it asunder, wrapping around its vast spines and carving into its flesh. The vast beacon, the vast mind was disappearing. Could he hope, perhaps that this was enough? That this would kill the monster, that it would save his people. 

It would have to be. Tassadar could not ignore the screaming voices behind the anomaly, their shouts and cries for help. The anomaly itself was fluctuated, spasming in reaction to whatever disruption was on the other side. With the brilliant destruction of the Overmind before him, with his ship collapsing around him, Tassadar let the pull of the anomaly take him. 

He was immediately hit with the sensation of falling sideways, whipped around an axis like the spoke of a wheel. Faster and faster he rotated, feeling almost as if he would be flung off at any moment. He couldn’t see, couldn’t sense any mind aside from his own. There was no Khala here, nothing to provide reference except the spinning. 

Suddenly the spinning began to slow. Tassadar’s sense of direction managed to return, enough to realize that he was tipping upwards, the final rotation slowly levering him upright. Tick by tick the wheel turned, moving him higher and higher until finally he was fully upright. A world erupted into being around him.

He was at the center of a circle. A titanic zerg form was screeching, tearing its way through the building and the terrans within it. Two human psionics, one infested, were fighting what would seem to be a terran child, if not for the warping flesh and voracious thoughts, and another new abomination, several terrans fused into a floating orb of discoloured flesh. Tassadar had no idea what was going on and he had no time to. All he could do was fight.

The lone protoss templar marshalled his power, that of the khalai and the dark templar alike, and unleashed it.

**(Transition)**

It took Luna nearly a minute of desperate flailing to realize Abathur wasn’t paying any attention to his body. No matter how much she begged or pleaded or yelled or hit him he wasn’t going to respond. He had left her completely alone, aside from the mindless people and the handful of zerg that remained after the blast. For some reason, Luna felt they had to be discounted. They couldn’t talk, they couldn’t do anything on their own, and...they couldn’t think. Merlin, what had she been doing? She’d been giving people to Abathur to make into fancy puppets, had convinced them that it would be great if...had she really convinced them? If she’d shown them the hivemind, and the hivemind and Abathur made them into  _ that _ , then-

Luna collapsed. She couldn’t muster the strength to keep standing.

She tried to count in her head, how many people she had recruited. After forty, she had to give up. There were too many and she was too overwhelmed and it was-was it getting dark above her? Luna looked overhead, craning her neck. Four massive zerg were flying over head. Three were tapered at one end and bulbous at the other, the leviathans that Abathur had mentioned, the ones that carried the cerebrate. She was supposed to leave on them, wasn’t she? To leave the planet and the humans to...whatever it was Abathur had in store for them.

The fourth creature, she didn’t remember. It was more ovaloid, like a flying carapaced egg, a massive slit dominating its thicker bottom half.  It seemed to be going a different direction than the others, flying more towards the west. Was it new? Had the cerebrate made it? The slit opened partially, revealing a bright yellow eye, slitted like a snake, malicious and deadly. 

Just an eye? Why would it just be an eye? And then, quite suddenly, it hit her.  Luna could only think of one beast whose eye was dangerous enough for Abathur to use like this. She’d heard rumors of a basilisk in the castle toward the end of her first year, and apparently they’d all been true.

So that’s what had happened to it. Abathur had torn it apart and put it back together in that thing. He wasn’t content with just slashing the humans apart, melting them in acid, crushing them in jaws, or whatever other horrid means of killing them he’d found while she’d been brainwashing people, Merlin, she’d been brainwashing people while Abathur made killing machines. And now he was using them.

Why? Why did he insist on killing all of them? Had they been some sort of threat? But Luna hadn’t seen any hint that they had been fighting or against each other at all until Abathur had said so, when he said that humans wouldn’t trust them, would kill them. But hadn’t Thenabar been fine? Were they at war? It seemed like they had only started their war when Abathur had said so. But...he had attacked first, sent the nydus worms underground and the zerg with them to fight. 

The basilisk eye had floated out of view, while the leviathans were approaching, getting lower to the ground. The wind displaced by their sheer bulk whipped around Luna, lifting up her limp hair and tentacles as if they were as light as dust. The eye was probably going off to kill more, turn them to stone, imprisoned in time until they finally shattered. All because Abathur decided that humans had to die or become mindless slaves, and Luna couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

Could she? 

Luna stood up. Her tentacles snapped to attention, cracking into place like spiked flails whipping into place. Her face felt slack, dead of any expression. She didn’t want to have to do this, not really. But she couldn’t stand aside, couldn’t ignore what was going on right in front of her. 

The stone pavement was uneven, but he’d made sure her sense of balance was better. It was rough, as well, but her armored feet had no trouble on any terrain, not anymore. He’d done so much for her, she couldn’t even keep track of it all. And yet...she continued her slow march toward him, the horrible necessity of what she was about to do nearly crushing her. 

The leviathans kept floating lower. The wind had picked up. She probably couldn’t do this once the cerebrate fully arrived, if it managed to pick up where Abathur left off. It had to be now. Quite suddenly, she was standing directly behind Abathur, the evolution master, one of her best friends for years. 

She would never forget the sickening noise his body made as she tore it apart.

**(Transition)**

_ Abathur: Slug boy who’s real big and good at the genetics. Also his mouth is sideways. ~f _

**Abathur: Focused. Calculating. Intelligent. Cold. Very few words can be used to describe the Evolution Master, for there are very few things to compare him to. In a Swarm where most creatures are grown by the billions, Abathur stands out for being a unique creation, the only being of his like in the entire galaxy. Instead of relying on numbers, Abathur relies on his ability to shape essence to constantly evolve the Swarm, working from the backlines to invent and implement increasingly deadly weapons and strains. In the span of a few years, Abathur is capable of utterly reshaping the Swarm, creating dozens of new strains each more lethal than the least, creations capable of killing in new and more brutal ways. This is the sole purpose of the Evolution Master: improving the Swarm, through essence, through stressors, through planning, through pain, he will never stop his endless march for perfection, no matter what gets in his way.**


End file.
